Bionicle Oracles 1: Island of Destiny
by Chronicle Mask
Summary: The evil Makuta has cast the Great Spirit Mata Nui into a deep sleep, turning his island paradise into a land besieged. Three Virtues are all Mata Nui's people have left. Unity, to stand together against disaster. Duty, to hope in the face of hopelessness. And Destiny, a prophesy that heroes will come to awaken the Great Spirit and dispel Makuta's reign. (The epic reimagined.)
1. Legend of the Bionicle

"Gather around the fire. Forget the shadows that encircle us for a time." The quiet, steady voice of Turaga Vakama, one of the Elders of the Matoran people, spoke from beyond his spark-orange mask. He and the other five Elders stood around the large rock table erected in the center of the stone plateau. "Let your minds be at ease. No nightmares will enter in and plague you this evening, even if you nod off from boredom. Turaga Onewa wants to share with you a series of images to entertain you with tonight's story."

Turaga Onewa, Elder of the Po-Koro villages, exerted his frail strength. In response, his Noble Mask of Mind Control activated its power, and through it he shared his imagination with those near and far. The images conjured from his mind felt warm and heavy, for though the projections were for entertainment and instruction tonight, his long life's experience and wisdom inspired his creativity.

Those who allowed him access beheld an empty landscape of bare stone, over which a yellow sun shown bright in the white and cloudless sky. Two spheres flanked the sun, each as featureless a face as the expanse of land Onewa imagined. All was empty and all but void.

Turaga Nokama of Ga-Koro struck up the narrative. "In the Time before Time, when our three worlds, the Tapu Poi, were formed and set to orbit the bright furnace of Uranga Rehua, the Great Spirit Mata Nui, after whom our island home is named, descended to his then formless domain."

The image of the bare plain changed. A stone bigger than the sun drifted down from on high, but it cast no shadow and landed with grace upon the land, which rippled like the soft fabric of a bed. The mighty edifice was smooth and seamless. It radiated unnatural perfection, yet at the same time the land and sky seemed to circle around it instead of the sun, as if it were the fixed center of all things.

"From the silent ripple-swells of potential Mata Nui released the Sea," Turaga Matau croaked.

The ripples spread outward unto and beyond the horizon like a vast, disturbed pond. It turned paler and paler, until white crests formed on the tips of the ripples, which also swelled until they began to heave and collide. The ripples became waves, and the land an ocean. The sea was as clear as crystal. But the stone that represented Mata Nui rested over the water like a cork in a pool, but anchored motionless so that it was headless of the crashing waves.

"And then," Nokama's voice said, her cracked whisper blending into and then out from the murmuring surf, "Mata Nui summoned up our island home."

The murmuring of the ocean escalated to a tremendous roar. Turaga Nuju swept his hand over the table to provide a physical accompaniment to Onewa's cinema. The stone plateau, where the Elders gathered the villagers to recount stories, trembled beneath the power of his mask for a second. The villagers cried out in surprise and delight. With a sudden blast of countless drops of crystal water, the island threw back the covering of the ocean and its waves. The spear-like peak of Mt. Ihu shot high into the sky, its iced surface a blinding mirror beneath the sun.

The image of the island crept closer, slowly magnifying as Turaga Whenua's wheezing voice spoke. "And other islands and places were built to break the fathomless territories of our ocean world. At the same time, the other two Great Spirits set to work upon their worlds, also."

For a moment the vision changed to the sky, showing the two distant spheres. Green spread from the western hemisphere of the right-hand world, while the left turned black like a cinder as it slid behind the sun, as if in hiding…

"Mata Nui, in his wisdom, sought his brother and sister, Mahuta and Makuta Nui. Mahuta took the fertile soil of the island and painted it with lush jungles and pastures. But much remained barren with sand, and the ground was lifeless. So, Makuta released many living beasts with the sparks of life into the deserts and canyons and frigid mountains. And, within the lesser slopes of Mangai, which rested in the shadow of the taller Ihu, he churned up a great furnace…" Whenua coughed.

The image in the sky disappeared in a billow of dancing ash. When the cloud vanished Onewa had shifted again to an image of the island. Green spread out from the feet of the volcano and cold mountains to stain much of the land with vibrant jungle.

Turaga Matau's voice swirled around his listeners, his voice carried by some of his powers, which conjured up a gust about the listeners as the vision played in their heads. The island advanced closer, so that it looked and felt to the villagers that they were freefalling toward the volcano crater. "But Mata Nui didn't stop there!"

Then suddenly the great stone crashed down upon the stone plateau in the in the imaginary vision, causing the villagers to gasp in surprise, even though Onewa's image didn't feature them present in the vision. The point of view then fell into orbit about the great stone, and Turaga Nokama spoke once more, her voice low and proud, like the prow of a new ship cutting through the waves on its maiden voyage. "He created you, villagers of his island. The Matoran."

Many small pebbles exploded from the stone and began to orbit it.

"But you were unthinking-dull, and without purpose or direction," Turaga Matau said, his voice sounding hapless, as if there was nothing to be done about this problem. "Your head-thoughts were empty. Whatever to do? Order you build him honor-temples?"

Turaga Vakama coughed and spoke over the rising chuckles form the audience. "Ahem. Yes. Well, knowing that… empty-headedness and the danger it posses, The Great Spirit in his _wisdom,_ " he said, half-shouting at the end as the villagers' chuckling matured into laughter, "and _graciousness,_ bequeathed unto us the Three Virtues."

Onewa's image rescued Vakama's narrative from Matau's humorous sabotage. Three blasts of light erupted from the great stone, each so bright the villagers reached for their eyes, their minds tricked into thinking they'd been blinded physically. The lights dimmed and became three spheres. They circled above the representation of Mata Nui, just as the worlds circled the sun. The sky overhead turned from day to night, transforming it into a black canvas speckled with the numberless host of stars. The distant clouds of Komata Rangi appeared overhead, circling the three worlds and obscuring many of the stars in their violet veils. The twin horns of the clouds almost touched one another to form a hedge in the sky. A similar design appeared around the Three Virtue Spheres orbiting Mata Nui's stone.

"Unity," Vakama said grandly. The rightmost sphere glowed with emerald light as he spoke. "Duty." The central sphere flashed gold. "And Destiny." The leftmost sphere glimmered purple.

"With these three commandments, Mata Nui gave the Matoran purpose in life," Vakama declared gravely.

"So that you can pretend to be _happy_ about building honor-temples for him," Matau said into the solemn silence.

Laughter threatened to break out again.

This time, Vakama and the other Turaga let it go on. When the mirth faded back into expectant silence, the old Elder continued in a quiet voice. There was no grandiose coloring to his words, no acting in his grim voice. A chill claimed the meeting area.

"But, Makuta grew jealous of his brother and sister."

Onewa withdrew his power, cutting off the flow of images his creative mind had been projecting. For an instant every villager's mind was thrown into darkness. The light of the fire quickly returned them to reality.

"And, as you can see in the sky overhead, his world, Ahitaahi Poi, no longer dances in the modern sky above our heads," Whenua said.

Everyone turned their heads up toward the open sky. It was like a dark window, for the horns of the distant Komata Cloud nebulae encircled the horizon in shining violet. Comets darted about the distant gasses, and here and there a pulsing blue flicker issued from the dying seeds of the stars that once shown there. Sheens of metallic rainbow hues, as seen when light reflects off oil, crept across the clouds as the gasses rolled and shifted. But in the hole between these two nebula the sky was so clear it seemed magnified, giving a perfect view of distant stars and constellations, at least in part.

But in all this cosmic majesty no sign of Makuta's dark world could be seen with the naked eye.

Unfortunately, there was still one more heavenly body to see: Pukahu Poi. The planet rose over the horizon, its orbit passing close enough to fill a quarter of the open window stars. Unlike in Onewa's images of Creation, where the world of Mata Nui's sister had been green and lush, this world looked like a tombstone, a grave marker for its dead maker. All that was left for the villagers to see of the lost paradise of Pukahu Poi was a dead planet invading their sky.

"Jealous of his brother and sister, or perhaps corrupted for reasons none of us ever want to understand, Makuta betrayed us all," Vakama said. But it was the voice of one speaking to himself. Everyone knew the truth. The shadows of night reminded everyone of it with each passing flicker of the meeting fires.

"He shattered his own world of Ahitaahi. The fractured pieces plowed into its neighboring planets. Mata and Mahuta Nui were taken completely off guard. With his power, Mata Nui saved many islands from the horrific tidal waves that savaged from one side of Moana Poi to the other." Vakama's voice grew shaky with emotion as he remembered those events.

"As we can see, Mahuta and Pukahu were not so resilient," Whenua said, seeing Vakama was unable to talk anymore. "The world of abundance and life was shattered and broken. When the debris at last thinned out of the sky, nothing remained of Pukahu Poi but what you see, naked desert and mountains, save for the cold arctic lands and their armor of ice. That's why we call it Bara Magna, 'The Dead Rock', nowadays."

"And as for Mahuta Nui, sister of our Great Spirit, her death heralded his own peril," Nokama continued for Whenua.

Vakama spoke up again. "Makuta slew Mahuta. But that was not enough. He came for us next. Mata Nui was cast into a deep sleep. And then, with the Great Spirit unable to help us, Makuta sought to turn us into his slaves."

Onewa shared a final mental image with the villagers. It was of the island of Mata Nui being covered by a shadow, as if someone was closing a door in front of the sun itself. When the darkness was complete, multitudes of small lights remained on the island.

"But all hope is not loss," Vakama said, spirit returning to his words. "The Great Spirit foresaw this. His will lives on in all of you, in his Three Virtues. Unity, to bind us together in this time of darkness, Duty, to ensure we never lose sight of the path, and Destiny: the only promise despair can never touch."

"Don't despair, no matter how great Makuta's shadow grows," Nokama said. Her voice was like a soothing stream on a hot day.

"If he weren't so failure-desperate, he wouldn't have had to blow up his own freaky planet," Matau added.

"Mata Nui will awaken again," Vakama said, fire in his voice.

"Let us all remember to thank the Great Spirit for his wisdom. Even the spell of Makuta's sleep is not enough to separate us. He is in all of you, as we are all in him," Onewa said.

"And if that keeps you up at night, don't think about it at all," Matau said. Nuju grabbed him from behind and covered his mouth.

"Indeed, it is as you say," someone called from beyond the light of the meeting fire.

"Mata Nui can hear all your voices, every one down to the last," someone rasped from above.

The villagers and Turaga went still as if frozen. Many of the villagers began to huddle close, looking around in a foolish attempt to pierce the night for the owner of the voice.

"Your screams are the only thing to be found in the dolor of his everlasting slumber," a soft voice hissed from the main fire. As it spoke, the lesser fires set at the edge of the plateau died out.

Sparks crackled. The main fire in the center of the meeting place died to embers. Smoke billowed upwards like a thunderstorm. It spread out, darker than the sudden blackout, a hole in the night. It formed into a smooth mask somewhat like a shield or bullet, complete with two deeply slanted eye holes. Two green eyes behind the mask spoke of mold or corruption. A crimson tinge flared up now and then, like the sudden blasts from Mt. Mangai's caldera. It turned the green eyes a sick aquamarine for brief moments. From the light reflected off the cracked and dead skin of Bara Magna, the smoke shape rippled in a continuous billowing.

"Tell them, Turaga," the voice from the mask of shadow and smoke said in a rumbling whisper. Tremors ran out from the campfire. The plateau shivered like the villagers. "The truth," he said, soft as can be. The words calmed the villagers almost at once, soothing their shivers. "Remind them of how the Matoran were trapped in slave labor within the heart of Moana Magna, this drowned pebble of a world, _slaving_ away for Mata Nui."

"Don't listen to Makuta's lies," Vakama shouted. His voice sounded muffled and sharp, like someone caught red-handed selling a lie to a gullible audience, compared to Makuta's eloquent voice.

"Slaving," Makuta continued, sounding like he could hardly believe it himself. "Working to the marrow of your iron bones, and all for whom? A lazy 'Great' Spirit who couldn't even stay awake long enough to help Mahuta Nui my sister . Or me and _my_ people."

"He _was_ awake," Onewa shouted, his old voice floundering out like some kind of hapless lunatic running from an alleyway and into a busy street.

"Yeah," Matau added. "You're lying! No one would believe a giant floating black head-mask!"

"Am I a Matoran villager or Turaga Elder? Do I hold true to a physical form? Where is Mata Nui's body? Do you tend to it on a giant bed under the sea?" Makuta's voice dripped contempt. Some of the Matoran were beginning to listen more attentively to his words, and he returned attention to them. "See, you Matoran are indeed connected to my careless Brother, for you know I speak the truth, and do so in the only way I can, from this cloud. Be thankful I don't seep into your thoughts, as your Turaga gurus do to with their dubious Mask of Power."

"You are a creature of the shadows, speaking from one after destroying our campfire to throw us into confusion," Whenua hollered.

"Shadow indeed," Makuta said. The mask above the meeting place grew larger, and the eyes blazed to life, bathing the Matoran villagers in light. "But see, I don't take on this form out of choice! My world is no more, destroyed in an accident I wasn't strong enough to prevent! That careless Mahuta ignored me, my lazy brother wasn't awake for me when _I_ needed him. Tell me, Turaga, where was Mata Nui when his brother Makuta sought his help?"

"You perverted liar," Nokama railed, swinging her ceremonial trident staff. Some of the Matoran looked on in shock, surprised at the oozing venom in Nokama's tone. All calm she'd been on the surface, but now that she was angry her composure eroded into a violent fit! She actually began to caper about, spearing at the smoke.

"See! Look, Matoran villagers. They aren't even answering me. I want an answer, I want to know! Look, Ko-Koro villagers. Your Elder Nuju is trying to run away from the meeting while you can't see," Makuta said, turning his hovering apparition to the side so that one eye could bathe him in a red searchlight. The white-armored Turaga stopped short and looked back. He shook his pickaxe cane and hurried on into the night without a word.

"Now _there_ is a creature of darkness!" Makuta snarled. "He doesn't even speak the same language as the rest of you, and not because he can't, but refuses, so what's it matter if he leaves? I don't care. What about you, Matoran? Will you listen? Will you think about _my_ side, and my questions?"

"We won't let you take them from us," Onewa swore.

"The only questions they need to ask, is what we can do to silence you! Villagers of Ga-Koro, follow me, we're going back home to the village," Nokama ordered.

None of the Ga-Matoran obeyed, though several began to cluster together, separating from the other villagers.

"If it weren't for you, Makuta-mask," Turaga Matau sneered, "there wouldn't be dangerous beasts roaming the island trying to eat everybody!"

The villagers looked back to Makuta to hear his answer.

The shadow shifted in a shrug. "Those were creatures my sister reared. I can't be blamed for how others raise my animals. I've tried to re-tame them for you, but the Turaga keep you hard at work hunting them and destroying their habitats." Makuta sniffed. "If _your_ homes were getting regularly knocked down and your parents _hunted_ , you'd want to do the same."

"We hunt for necessity and build to expand the monuments and beauty of this island," Vakama shouted. "There is no destruction of nature! Only harmonious growth of each!"

"So you call it. I see it as a means to expand your petty fiefdoms," Makuta said. "But whether or not you're tyrants is for the villagers to decide. Tell me, Matoran of the Koros, do you feel your hard labor is ill-spent or well-wasted?"

"It is already decided," Vakama swore, raising his torch staff. Its crafted flame head blazed to life. "You are a deceiver and trickster. Our people know their Destiny! And it's not to serve or be deceived by you, Makuta! Begone!"

"Begone yourself," Makuta said, and then he laughed. "I alone remain to guide you, Matoran of Mata Nui, and assorted gurus. I alone am awake, fearless in this hour of night to govern the shadows that surround us. Heed my words. Hear my plea and turn to me, so I might help you, my good Matoran folk. I, Makuta Nui, still listen to your prayers. There are no others left to lend an ear."

The mask of shadows dissipated, leaving the sky over the plateau of meeting clear again, save for the scabrous corpse of Bara Magna.

* * *

After Turaga Vakama rekindled the fires, Turaga Matau and Whenua gathered the Matoran together around the table. Some were quiet, thoughtful, and used the night to conceal it. The more seasoned among them kept watch for signs of attacking rahi beasts.

The youngest Matoran were the most shaken. The combination of Makuta's appearance and Onewa's story imagery had dealt a shock that wasn't about to leave. Nokama sat with several of them, offering soothing words in an attempt to calm them down. She held the hand of a Ga-Matoran from her own village, Hali. "There, there. All will be well. Makuta's words won't break our Unity," Nokama said, her voice calming again, though her green eyes continued to sparkle with rage at what Makuta had done.

"Unity is no good without hope, Noble Nokama," Hali said.

"Nonsense," said Jaller, a Ta-Matoran soldier. "It's gotten us this far. We can keep holding him off so long as we have to."

"But how can we fight back," Hali asked. "Mata Nui didn't create us to be fighters, and Makuta's Rahi are too cunning and vicious. An endless defense can only have one outcome!"

Nokama turned a mournful look to Vakama. One by one, the other Turaga turned to look to the Elder of Ta-Koro for his answer.

Vakama heaved a sigh. "The night is old, and the Master of Shadows is watching us. Of all the time to hope, it's now, young Matoran, never doubt that."

"But what can we actually _do,_ " Jaller demanded, standing up. "Stories won't keep him away! Stories won't prove he's wrong," Jaller added, though he did so under his breath so Vakama couldn't hear. "I agree with Hali. An endless defense is no answer. In all the thousand years waging this Great War, have we ever mounted the offensive? We should spend time less on stories, and more on plans to counterattack!"

"So Makuta can hear them?" Matau asked. "What purpose would that serve, other than to provide him funny skit-fiascos like tonight?"

"It's just… too much," Hali said, holding her head in her hands. The island will look like that dead rock up in the sky. It reminds me of a skull with a shattered mask," she went on. Others began to voice agreement.

So many had died fighting to prevent Makuta from ruining Mata Nui. Bara Magna served as an excellent and constant reminder of what should happen if he had his way.

Hali glanced over at a friend, Takua, a Ta-Matoran. He was looking up at Bara Magna in fascination, and seemed the only Matoran able to do so without growing depressed.

"Do you have to do that," she asked.

"I don't mind. It's amazing. There's another whole world up there, bigger than our own. I wonder what it would be like to visit sometime, and explore it!"

"You're out of your mind," Jaller said, shocked. He rolled his eyes. "But that's what makes you Takua, I guess."

This brought a few chuckles, and a hurt look from Takua.

"Well, it's better than staying here. Maybe Makuta wouldn't bother us if we hid on Bara Magna, somehow," Takua argued.

"There is no need to run," Vakama said, tapping his staff to end the debates before they got out of hand. "We have a purpose here, a Duty to remain on this island and guard it from the evil that desolated Bara Magna. Make no mistake, there is no other safer haven beyond this land. It is intertwined with the awakening of the Great Spirit!"

"Really," Hali asked, her voice betraying her skepticism. "Why have you not told us this before, Noble Turaga?"

"We mustn't leave until the island of Mata Nui achieves its Destiny," Vakam replied. Sighing, he went to stand by the stone table again. He hopped up on top of it, an act reserved only for when someone meant to recount a new story or prophesy. It was something rarely done nowadays.

"Gather around, everyone, for new tale," he said in a distant way. His amber eyes gazed off into some faraway place only he could see, perhaps a vision of the future, or a reluctant piece of his secret memories. "It is an ancient oracle we Bionicle have passed down since before the treason of Makuta. It concerns our hope to keep fighting the enemy, even though he surrounds us and cannot be harmed with mere firelight. Even when all the islands across Moana Poi have been overrun or corrupted, leaving us trapped with nowhere else to go.

"Hear well, now, the Legend of the Toa."

Turaga Vakama began the new tale. It extended on into the looming night. No Matoran slept, and they did not cheer or shout. The new fire did not warm them, and the shifting shadows seemed to sneer at each of Vakama's words and turn them into flimsy promises. A few Matoran understood the oracle was quite embellished with hopeful ideas about what the Toa were like, or what they could do. Stronger than Turaga, and almost as tall as Vortixx, with powerful Kanohi Masks and powers of over an element from which Mata Nui had created them. Vakama ordered them to remember what they could, as if they were facts and he had seen them with his own eyes. The Matoran obeyed, of course. They had little else to cling to, even if no one had ever heard of a Toa before.

And never, not for a moment, did they forget the shadows circling them, or imagine they were not listening.

Upon completing his story, a story of the promised arrival of six heroes to awaken the Great Spirit and free the Island of Mata Nui, Vakama sat down and went silent. His ruby eyes dulled, and it seemed to the Matoran they were staring at a dying fire's last heat before retreating beneath the ash.

Morning crested the horizon and sent the shadows into an ordered, slow retreat. In the distance, they heard the Master of Shadows' voice echoing from the depths of the surrounding valley. He was laughing. . .


	2. Awakened Fire

The prison hissed. Nightmares and sleep fled. He awoke.

Rusted metal screamed, and then a piece of the prison fell away for light to invade its only cell, leaving the occupant blind.

There came a harsh cough behind him and then everything went tumbling. Fresh sounds assaulted him. Distant cries came from overhead and a constant crashing rolled out all around.

For a while he remained as he was, having no clue _who_ he was or why he should get up. He couldn't feel anything yet. So he decided to wait.

The light faded. He felt coolness settle around him. It was his first physical sensation he could ever remember. Even so, it all felt so familiar, as if he had done this before. But that was surely impossible, wasn't it? He spent forever in darkness dreaming of… he wasn't sure what, exactly, but it turned the chill into a blanket of ice. He decided _then and there_ that he _despised_ feeling cold.

He let his chilling memories of dreams go and decided it was best to just remain as he was. Maybe new noises would come, or perhaps the light would come back. Somehow, the possibility of returning light frightened and invigorated him at once. It meant a cycle.

A cycle of what?

Day, night, and other basic concepts spun up to the top of his mind, whispering a single word from the black-chilled depths. The voice that uttered it was one he didn't recall ever hearing.

But, somehow, he understood by _instinct_ it was his own voice that screamed: _TIME!_

Urgency stirred within him. It was like the word "Time" was a rock tossed into a pool of water, disrupting everything he understood. Now he had a purpose to get up, a need. Time, time was of the essence. He _couldn't_ stay. He had to figure out where he was, why he couldn't use senses he knew he possessed, such as touch and smell. Moreover, he had to stop wasting _time._ Because, he realized, he might not have much of it left.

The light returned with warmth. Fresh noises reached his ears. Chatters, squeaks, cries, chirps and hoots played in the unceasing breeze. The racket originated from the opposite direction of that ceaseless crashing roll and roar. The sea was behind him. He had arrived. These two realizations spurred something inside him. He began to try and flex muscle and get feeling back so he could at least stand up.

With time, the sensation of touch returned, bringing with it several unpleasantries. Grit surrounded him, and some of it was _wet._ The sea was right behind him indeed, and sometimes drew close enough to douse him with spray and foam. He felt it seep into his armor. It dried, leaving a different kind of grit than sand behind. The sensation felt like his living armor and internals would mold and rust. He was going to rust and die, all without having ever understood why he'd been dumped out of the prison to start with.

That was when he realized something, something most important of all: _I HATE this place._

It was time to do something about it!

Moving his hand felt excruciating. He realized he must have been asleep for untold ages, for his body felt as if it had rotted alive _already_. But the pain receded the more he tried to move. He felt his living armor merging, reshaping and growing back what it had lost, even as the soft meat within his metal shell knitted back together strand by strand. When the knitting completed, he made the attempt to stand on his feet.

The first series of movements were clumsy. His muscles failed to execute his orders quite right, having just been rebuilt from near complete decay. But he managed somehow to get to a sitting position. Once there, he allowed himself to open his eyes and face the light. He was relieved that the brightness no longer hurt.

 _We're making some progress,_ he thought, and set to work picking himself up to his feet.

It took hours of practice, but he finally reached a point where he could stand without losing his balance. He looked around him. Green and brown pillars, plants and trees if memory served him right, formed a wall ahead of him. Noises exploded from it at all times. _Jungle, or rainforest, or something,_ he thought, snatching for anything his shattered memories offered. He needed explanations, answers.

He looked to the sky. The bright source of light hung up there, dousing him and all else in heat. He felt an instant connection to the light, despite that he still couldn't look straight into it without suffering pain. It was heat, life and something that he shared in common with it. _But what could that be,_ he asked of himself.

He searched around him for answers, but found only a plethora of fresh questions: there was a grey canister thing grounded on the beach beside him, a heavy-looking segment of it had screwed itself off and lay nearby. That at least explained the noise he heard before getting catapulted onto this wet and grit-begotten place.

 _Beach._ He was a on a beach. The grit was sand and salt, and the source of the salt and the roaring noise was the ocean. A shiver ran down his spine. He _hated_ the sea, though he couldn't tell quite why, yet.

A fresh set of feelings came to him. None of the new realizations were pleasant, as expected. He was on a _beach,_ exposed and vulnerable. Anything under the sun could find him. And there were things he _needed_ to hide from, of that he felt more certain than anything else. Not that being searched for by enemies bothered him. He rather liked the concept of his foes coming to him without the need for a boring search & hunt. But enemies meant struggle, battle.

 _I'm not prepared,_ he thought. He experienced an acute sense of vulnerability, weakness and lack of protection. What was he _missing?_

 _I can't learn more here,_ he thought. _Nothing has changed for several cycles of day and night. Days, days have passed. I have to move inland if I want to understand more._ He took a step, and then another. By the third he felt confident he wouldn't lose his balance. Then he tripped over something buried in the sand and fell flat on his face! Anger boiled off of him until he felt the air ripple with heat. Satisfaction came to him. He enjoyed making things hot. Turning himself around, he wiped the sand off the thing that dared bring him down.

 _It's probably a rock,_ he decided, o _r maybe a stump from one of those wide-leafed trees over there?_ He jerked his hand back, amazed at what his excavation unearthed. It was no rock, but a crimson mask. Its lifeless eyeholes stared up at him. He stared back, and felt a sense of belonging fill him. It had a noble, strong appearance, a selfless sacrificing appearance. A dangerous, powerful appearance. He decided it resembled himself.

He lifted it off the beach and put it over his face, which he now realized was without covering, and that was just plain indecent. A hot and cold rush surged into him. He staggered and fell onto his back, his whole body shaking. He lay unmoving, waiting for the strength to fade. Instead, swell upon swell of strength and energy poured into him. He felt like a jar being filled with water until overcame its boundary and poured down the sides. He grew used to the strength and hopped to his feet. He now commanded total control of his balance.

While he rubbed his mask, an invisible layer of armor formed up around him, causing the air to hum next to his person. The nerves within his armor prickled as if tickled by needles. A second layer followed, shrouding him in an invisible guard. _Ah! This is what I've been missing._ To complete the defense, a soft blue radiance surrounded him like a thin mist, the result of a third and final shroud of protection stronger than the last two. _That's more like it,_ he thought in satisfaction.

 _Now then, let's see what else is around here…_ he turned this way and that in search for anything else the sand might be trying to hide from him.

 _What have we here?_ He bent down at a grey thing sticking up between a pair of seashells. It looked like the handle to a weapon. An itch started in his left arm. He looked down at it to see that this member was not the same as the opposite arm. The elbow was reinforced and forearm down it had a ribbing that bespoke of reinforced piping or perhaps compression chambers. He blinked several times. There wasn't even a hand there, but instead some kind of cylindrical slot stuck to the wrist. Peculiar, because it _felt_ like his right hand!

On impulse, he drove the cylinder down atop the handle. With a hiss, the handle slid into the cylinder's hollow space. It locked in place with a twist. He felt something channel through his left arm, a hot, rushing sensation that caused the forearm region to glow. He took a step backward in surprise, inadvertently yanking the rest of the object from the sand. It was a sword, shaped like several tongues of fire. Already the edges of the weapon glowed cherry red. The light spread until the blade was as crimson as his armor, and the edges turned orange and in some places pink with heat. He raised the sword over his head and pointed it at the sun.

 _That up there is the same as me. Heat, light and—_ he commanded the burning power in his left arm to migrate into the sword. It obeyed. Sparks erupted from the sword tip and blew away in the breeze as the blade heated from crimson to pink to incineration-white. Sand heated to glass beneath his feet. There came a flash of blinding light as a ray of fire almost as bright as the sun shot into the sky. A rain of sparks fell atop the jungle trees nearby and set them ablaze, even as the leaves facing the beach wilted and smoked. Steam rose from the sizzling surf.

 _Both of us are Fire,_ he thought. _That's what I was forgetting. I am Fire. No, more than that. What is my name? Why can't I remember?_ Frustrated, he swung the sword in an arc, leaving a storm of flames and rippling heat in its wake. His cut traced a delicate glass crescent into the sands. _Such power, such power, and I don't even know why I possess it._

Should he turn it upon the air, the waves, the beach? Himself? A sibilant whisper spoke into his head at that moment, " _of course. Power is justice itself. All you need to do is use it. Make everything around you tremble in your passing. What doesn't bow to you, the Absolute, should just burn."_

That sounded wrong.

It was also tempting, and it was what he wanted to do right now. He was frustrated and angry. It wasn't fair. He deserved _better_! He was… who was he? Yes, that was the source of his frustration. _"_ Who _am_ I? What is my _name_?" he shouted. The wind and waves didn't answer. The crackling jungle canopy said nothing coherent. And the animals in the trees were silent, having fled his flames in terror.

 _Tahu._ The word echoed up from the darkest of his memory. He looked back at the canister he'd arrived inside of, trapped like scrap waste. He'd spent a long time inside that thing, but he'd not been thoughtless. While he slept he'd dreamed many dark dreams. Few of them made sense or seemed to connect, save that in all of them one name remained throughout. "Tahu," he whispered. That had to be it. It sounded right, felt right, just like the sword that had become his left hand.

"I am Tahu… of Fire. And more, I think." He looked around the beach. The sparks had turned it glassy in parts, and blackened ash was sweeping down from the ruined wall of jungle.

With a wave of his gauntleted right hand, Tahu ordered the flames devouring the trees and underbrush to stop their snack. At once the tongues of fire died into the wind as wild strands of smoke. They seemed to mutter mournfully at him for halting their feast.

"Sorry for the trouble," he found himself saying to the jungle as he first passed under the shade. He was Tahu, captain of the blaze. It wouldn't do to lead a raging firestorm on a senseless path of destruction. _Not yet. I have to learn more about myself than my name and place in nature. Surely a place as big as this could use a bit of extra warmth,_ he surmised. _First thing to do is explore this jungle. Where does it go? For how long?_

He paused by a big, ribbed tree with lots of triangular leaves. He carved a smoldering arrow into it with the tip of his sword. _I'll start with some exploration. After a few trailblazing expeditions I'm sure to gather a clue or two._

Something black exploded from a screen of ferns. It coiled about his ankles and dragged him into the depths of the foliage. Before he knew it he tumbled into a yawning pit. Barbed vines reached for him. Amidst the rustle, Tahu heard that same sibilant voice again, whispering, " _Welcome to my Island."_


	3. Commander of the Waves

Up from the swirling deep she spun, legs kicking by the command of instinct, arms molding currents on which to climb banister-like to the grey and indigo surface. Light faded in and out, an unending storm pummeled the waves. But underwater, all remained calm and under her control. She was the commander of the waves, Toa of Water. How did she know this? Upon such an answer she contemplated even now as she surfaced.

The Toa of Water broke the surface and entered the tumult of rain and thunder and grumbling ocean, leaving the sanctuary of the deep behind. The forlorn sea hissed as curtains of rain scourged its surface. One such sweep of the storm's tears fell upon her. Gali breathed in. slowly with the speed of nuts dropped in honey, the darts of rain slowed to a halt over the Toa of Water's head. Gali breathed out. The raindrops rolled sidelong as if across a domed covering to plop tear-like into the ocean.

 _This storm is like my memories. Other than my name and title as Toa of Water, I can't glean what I ought from them,_ Gali thought in her inner council. _Nay, the memories are not memories, but dreams, that is to say, nightmares that fill me with confusion and dread. It's like trying to navigate a labyrinth._

From this swirling puzzle of images Gali had awoken in panic from a tremendous shock. A mighty wave or undercurrent had taken the cradle in which she dreamed darkness, a silver canister, and hurled upon a coral skerry. This blow was so strong it smashed the canister open and spilled her unconscious into the frothing waters. Gali was thankful for the ocean waking her up, for it meant escape from the sleep and dreaming.

Upon regaining her senses she swam upward, her hooked claws cutting through the water beside her like fins. Now, she contemplated the maze of dreams formed during her sojourn within that terrible canister. The tossing waves would have rendered meditation impossible for any other being, but to Toa Gali it was perfect for her needs. _Turbulation for turbulent thoughts_ , she decided. Gali closed her eyes and let the crashing sea toss her about in its lap as she plunged into her own mind. It felt like diving into a deep lake in the dead of night.

 _Mists, clouds, or perhaps steam billowed about her. Gali was flying in this dream, of that she felt certain, swooping along without effort as if born with wings, though she couldn't feel herself flapping. In her hands she held something she did not understand. And there was something wrong with her eyes. A bizarre symbol, a kind of circle with concentric rings and triangle shapes, appeared. On the rings were small circles that spun, and the symbol darted about whichever way she looked, tracking wherever her attention went. It wasn't real, as she couldn't grab it. So it was in fact a hallucination of sorts. Sometimes it followed the strange contraption in her hands whenever she pointed it this way and that._

 _There came the din of battle crashing down to her from up above, and streams of light and fire impaled the clouds all around her. As soon as she turned up to look at the cause of the commotion, a crimson monster dove to strike at her with its claws. She evaded it somehow, and then the clouds parted. She had come to an eye in the clouds. A golden light fell on her from a figure falling into the eye, the light emanating from the figure's mask. She felt her heart leap into her throat for reasons she didn't understand._

 _Then there was a flash of shadow. She turned about and found herself creeping around the corner of a building, or something. It was dark in this new part of the dream. Corrosion ate the metal plates beneath her. Sickly green algae or moss painted the walls, ceiling and floor in splotches, congregating to fully coat the corners. Indistinct light and unsettling shadows grew like a tree from the turn in the corridor. She turned that corner, stepping into a puddle of water by accident that sent shivers of revulsion into her foot and leg. Greasy foulness squirmed beneath her foot. It bespoke of decaying buildings and rotting irons. She took in a breath through her nose and experienced nuanced flavors of tainted brine and bitter rust in the air._

 _The hall ahead was six-sided and filled with pipes that ran shriveling through and under the crumbling plating, which was either brown or a red-splotched gray. Shifts in the air reminded her of the source of shadow and light at the end of the corridor: some kind of mechanical abomination upon her. Wedge-shaped eyes flashing emerald with artificial rage, it loosed a terrible cry that sawed at her eardrums! Its six arms stabbed into tracks in the corners of the passage. Sparks flew out as metal protested with six grating shrieks, but the abomination's speed increased all the same, despite the rust's resistance._

 _Gali sensed water and liquid within some of the plumbing, and summoned it to her aid. Bloated green pipes pushed aside the floor or parted the walls. Some drooped from the ceiling. They creaked and groaned like trees subjected to the stress of hurricane winds. Molding bolts popped and vile concoctions sprayed in jets from a dozen shattered seals. Under the pressure sagging flanges deformed and gaskets crumbled. Yellows, greens, browns, oily-blacks and greens mixed in a spray so awful the stench all but flung Gali to her knees, and it covered her in sticky and oily slime._

 _The thing struck the piping and kept on coming, adding the dying crunch of the pipes to the cacophony. Gali spied a dripping hole in the floor and dove through it, allowing the mechanical thing to scream overhead. Had Gali ever heard two freight trains colliding, she would have drawn a parallel._

 _Her dive landed her into a cavern with smooth, dark gray and green flooring cut into many large hexagons, like a hive of bees. Here and there the smooth hexagons broke their pattern where blades and fins of stone shot out from the sloping walls or ceiling. She ran, seeking an answer to the riddle of her surroundings. Why would she dream of such strange places? There was no reason to this maze-dream! No, it was a nightmare. Did that make this a dreamare then, or a nightmaze? It didn't matter what she called it, she decided. It still confused the life and reason out of her!_

 _But in this deranged place she'd spent untold years sleeping, and from the strange whispers and echoing voices she sometimes snatched words or phrases that made an inkle of since. Most of them jogged no memories or understand, although a few felt familiar or right. She recognized her name and title when spoken, that was why she was here, after all._

 _She passed many broad openings in the floor, walls and ceiling. Green vapors misted up from them to tint everything a washed-out lime green. A strange creaking sound grew in her ears. CHIIIK—CHIIIK—CHIKCHIKCHIK—It intensified and deafened her. She covered her ears and ran as hard as she could. She rounded a bend._

 _Gali stepped into a barren plain. A great mountain, a volcano, cracked with streams of molten rock shook all beneath it as it erupted. Ash and smoke carved rolling mountain-faces into a formless black sky. No, it was not totally dark, for there was a distant red star twinkling in the bleak emptiness. She saw various passages opening before her, and she chose one with the most light._

 _And then she was falling again, tumbling through a great waterfall. She dove out of it and into empty space. Gravity took hold of her shoulders, hips and arms to hasten her meeting with a maelstrom of clouds. She entered the clouds, and the strange symbol appeared back into her vision, spinning and changing color from blue to red as distant specks darted through it._

 _She was back where she'd begun, and with no end to the exit of this nightmare-labyrinth in sight. I'm wasting time. I'm in the world of the living now. Best to let these strange delusions of deep sleep alone. I doubt they have no meaning, but they're not important if I can't interpret it._

 _Her decision was made. Gali pumped her legs and stroked her arms, parting the waters of thought_. She surfaced from her mind and returned to the real word, to reality.

Wind scraped fusillades of rain against her mask. Gali saw a big wave rolling in and summoned it over. The swell caught her up and bore her toward a barren coast. Ragged cliffs stepped out of the storm-haze to stand sentry over the shore. Gali noticed many places where the ocean broke through them and quested inland with its blue arms, forming a web of fjords that might even trace their origins to the mountain streams of whatever land she had reached.

 _Wait, something's headed toward me,_ she thought, spying a dark shape approaching with her sharp eyes. Lithe and swift, the submerged figure dove deeper, its Y-shaped body disappearing within the clouds of mud and sand washed in from the inland sounds that dotted the coast. Despite the cover, Gali thought she noticed twin red lights twinkling up at her through the murk like twin stars on a cloudy night. Gali knew distance alone would protect her from a predator so large. It could leap out at her any moment. Instinct commanded her. She pointed her right arm skyward, hook claw radiating blue as she issued fresh commands to the cresting breaker. The command redirected the force of the wave from its forward charge into an upward current. Gali shot into the sky on the nose of a curling stream of seawater. At that moment the predator exploded from the waves, a wicked three-pronged jaw opening to receive what its two powerful arms forced into its jaws. Droplets surrounded it like confetti as it pummeled the space where Gali had been a fraction of a second before. Its red eyes flared in outrage at having been so narrowly foiled.

Gali began her descending arc back to the ocean. She twisted about to give herself full view of her assailant. The beast's blue armor was slick and supple, perfect for its serpentine grace. The adversary glanced over at Gali, and then she aborted her observation to execute a dive, cutting into a cresting wave. Her foe wasted no time, knifing the roiling breakers in-half with its mighty arms and tail, and crossed the half-way mark by the time she hit water. Gali called upon the power of her Mask, taking in a deep breath of ocean water to fuel her. She kicked and stroked frantically, meanwhile recruiting the sea again for help. Waves shifted formation, rolling aside to provide shallow troughs for her to swim through, and then swept back to crash against the predator. Gali took time long enough to look back. Her pursuer's red eyes gleamed with hunger as it rose and dove and shoved, battling through the waves as if the great swells and breakers were mere puddle ripples. Panic at last approached Gali's mind. She and the sea were friends, but so too was it acquainted with the beast chasing her. Putting distance between them was impossible, outrunning it an idea for the insane.

The beast's name was Tarakava. All who encountered one spoke this name with respect. For its part, this Tarakava's veins surged with the thrill. This was its element, its preferred hunting ground! This prey was fast and the sea was being tricky today, but it was all meaningless for one tireless swimmer as itself, and it had learned every ruse and trick of the surf and tide.

And the Tarakava was a natural-born killer. A single blow of its arms would force the life from the blue fish and invite in the blackness of death. Then it would slurp up the lifeless corpse and devour its cold armor and soft marrow-steel. The Master of Shadows would be pleased by this offering. Life for the Tarakava was exactly as it should be, today.

But Toa Gali was unlike any prey the Tarakava ever faced. In a move that confounded it, Gali spun back around to face it in frothing battle. Then she banked away and swam a circle. The Tarakava almost hesitated. Perhaps this prey wasn't so safe to eat after all. It was clearly out of its senses! What could cause a wily foe to start swimming in _circles_ of all things?

Gali knew the answer, of course. She let one arm cut into the growing eddies, her claw guiding them as a hand would guide the tiller of a boat. Power and momentum fed the eddies until their strength outpaced the natural forces bashing about them. The waves moaned as the whirling waters sucked them into the escalating vortex. The Tarakava felt the sudden tug. It tried to angle away, but with a screaming bellow the whirlpool matured.

Gali used the power of the vortex to catapult into the storm-driven air. Her trajectory placed her in the path of a ragged pillar of rock. Here her hooks proved a lifesaver, allowing her to snag a ledge in the gnarled pillar's face. Dangling by one arm, she looked to her enemy. The Tarakava continued to struggle as the whirlpool reeled it in, but to no avail, as with a sudden plop the hunter disappeared beneath the wild surface. A fresh deluge of rain roared in, scouring the face of the sea. When the fresh burst of rain had past, Gali looked again to find even the last trace of her whirlpool erased by the wild cavalry charge of the waves. Turning her attention back to her straining arm, Gali took her free claw and speared it against the rock.

The climb exhausted Gali, and upon reaching the lumped crown of the pillar she laid herself down for a rest. Having only just awoken to life, it amazed her that she'd possessed the athletic strength and stamina to survive that contest! Surely, the fathoms of her power went deep as the sea over which she had inexplicable authority. Never mind that she'd somehow known how to work these powers and muscle, Gali understood now just what a truly extraordinary being a Toa was.

 _But what does a Toa do with this power? I doubt I'm supposed to play catch with the predator lords of the deep, however exhilarating it might be._ That last thought disturbed her so much that she conquered her fatigue and sat up. She stared out at the ocean, hands cupped in her lap to collect the multitudes of droplets flaying about her in the driving wind. She felt it, the power of the storm, running through the wind across the smooth surface of her mask, invading every space of her armor. It was life, it was energy, all around her, and she ruled one-half of it, was _part_ of the storm.

If she desired, she could stretch out her hands and calm the blistering rains so they would not sweep into her, and order the endless ranks of surf to stand down and retreat. Yes, retreat so far that eventually the strain proved too much and it came roaring back in an irresistible assault! A Master Wave that would reduce the pathetic redoubts of the land to pebbles ground into the bedrock! It was her authority, her right, no reason to resist. But she did not.

Temptation snarled at her and fled.

Gali reflected, letting the icy breath of the tempest wash over her and its tears drench her in a cross-legged position. The storm clouds flashed above, yet it did not strike with its thundering lances. She breathed in and out, in and out, accepting the difficulty and pain of drawing breath amidst the daggering elements. While she reflected, she regenerated. Her muscles ceased to ache, her rib armor that gave her torso such sinuous flexibility, which had burned from the punishing swim, cooled and stopped throbbing. She regained her strength and straightened up. She felt her heart beat slower and fall into step with the shrink and swell of her lungs.

Deep into herself Gali fell, but not like the bizarre attempt at meditation she'd performed off shore. Now, she remained conscious of the world around her. Instead, she simply became aware of herself, as if she now gazed down at a mirror, one that could display what lay inside, behind the mask and beyond the cerulean and sky-blue armor skin. She neglected to look past the mask, and focused instead on her physical vessel. In the very core of her being, she felt a deep reservoir of strength that was the source of her power over the sea. It was still and unmoving, but waiting for the time she needed to stir it.

 _It's time to find out more what a Toa does,_ she thought, standing up. She looked away from the ocean, which seemed to stretch on until it met the dark hills of storm cloud. She couldn't be sure if it was east or west, or possibly even north or south, though a sixth or seventh sense made her think southeast, for some reason.

Southeast, then, spread out before her. _So vast,_ she thought. It was colored like a wet beach, but there wasn't any trace of sand near the shore. Countless fjords expanded into the gigantic land stretching from horizon to horizon. Even further she beheld a narrow line that she guessed to be a great canyon into which the waters of the sea drained. It carried on until it met a long, blue arm, and she couldn't think it was anything else but a river. It roved back and forth into a distant flat region, a desert. Beyond the sands the great river made a final loop to the left, which she deemed southwest by her internal compass, to come at last to the feet of a mountain glowing white beneath an unclouded sky.

 _It's far off to that mountain, very far,_ she decided. _But it's got a river, and I think that means the trip won't be arduous. I should reach it quickly._ She took a glance back at the surf, and suppressed a shiver of danger. The predator was still there, watching her from a coral skerry, its eyes fixed on her. _But it could very well be a dangerous trip,_ she reminded herself. This world's raw beauty stunned her. It would do her very well to remember it harbored countless perils.

Gali Toa of Water extended one of her hooks in salute to the Tarakava. Then, to start off her quest for answers, she began to descend the landward back of the pillar, her eyes toward the fjords between her and the great river.


	4. Arbitered Winter

Misguided snowflakes, fractal diagrammed in macro, rode the wind down to the narrow stretch of sloped beach. The beach hugged a stair of rime-coated stone that marched up into a series of jagged white-capped promontories. On the beach itself footprints trailed from a silver canister well-dusted with frost. Icicles grew on the rim of its opened mouth.

 _I arrived on this island from the canister when it ran aground. Cold stasis preserved me and I awoke whole and sound._

 _I don't contemplate what memories remain intact after assuming consciousness. My dreams would trouble even the sanest of minds. From these dreams I gather that a Darkness rules this land. But I am not afraid. The Darkness, if it has emotions to feel, will soon learn that Justice can be very, very cold._

 _As I walk along this barren shoreline in search of my stolen tools, I ponder myself. My conclusion: I am an Arbiter, a destroyer of all evil things I encounter. Ice is my weapon and scale. It is my being. The cold weather doesn't bother me because of this. If only I was the only one blessed with immunity._

 _Crustaceans have stolen my sword and shield from me. Little crabs that live on this beach must have scavenged me for pieces while I lay still trapped in my stasis coma. They ran far. But though they run, they cannot hide from Kopaka._

The white being's Mask shifted the lenses over its three microscope-like attachments, granting Kopaka an excellent view of everything along the shoreline, and beyond. It was a Mask of Vision. Kopaka could, with but a slight adjustment, see through sand, stone, water, or any other substance that trespassed between him and his objective. He could also magnify, to a degree, or diminish his sight, so that the entire island laid spread before his survey.

He'd catalogued six distinct variations of terrain at least, local wildlife, and a massive temple complex dominating the center of the island with three colossal walls sealing it off from the outside world. It was toward this point at the center of the island he intended to direct his search.

As for local terrain, in the distance a blizzard fell upon a range of jagged mountains. The terrain of this region was most harsh: mountains stabbed at the low-hanging clouds one moment and plunged into deep and narrow ravines the next.

No feature of the terrain preserved flat surfaces. Rimed fissures and uneven cliff faces turned any tell-tale paths into perilous traps for foolish feet. Severity increased further and further inland, where they mountains rose higher and the blackening chasms deepened to tapered pits.

 _I have also detected multiple life-forms, including one black and grey being of diminutive size and a whitish biped. I believe the latter biped is a scout for the former from analyzing its movements._

 _All this data has been collected for a_ reason. _Information is not boring. It is knowledge, and knowledge can be converted into power. While I am retrieving my armaments, I observe to take in more data, and therefore more power to plan. I have my objectives set now. I have catalogued all visible obstacles._

 _I feel sorry for the obstacles._

Kopaka's immediate objective was dead ahead at 47 bios and closing at walking speed. He could change this with a minimal amount of effort, but that went counter to a operation protocol.

Kopaka had decided upon waking up to dedicate himself to executing his objectives with a series of protocols. Having just awoken he didn't have a significant or concrete system formulated yet. That would require objective practice, which was why he was moving so slowly.

Zero Protocol: secure safety or prevent imperilments to any predefined objective.

First protocol: define objectives.

Second protocol: proceed with reasonable caution.

Third protocol: Gain intelligence on surrounding biome before executing significant action.

Fourth protocol: Do not expend excess energy.

Fifth protocol: Avoid unnecessary casualties to biome.

Sixth protocol: Define stages of fulfilling Objectives, designated as operations.

Seventh protocol: Fulfill designated operations until Objectives are completed.

Reaching the little crabs, Kopaka reached down and froze them over with a light brush of his hand. It was _not_ a fatal coat, merely enough to immobilize the crabs so that he could retrieve the two-pronged blade they had stolen. Retrieving the weapon, he returned it to his appropriate arm. An icy sensation ran down the length of said arm and fused with the blade.

Blade retrieval completed, Kopaka turned around and began the trek in the opposite direction for his shield, which the surf had carried some ways down the beach. He was most fortunate that the object was too heavy to float, and that the sea was cold enough that anything that washed up was likely to be frozen to the shore rather than be washed out to sea. Example: the canister by which he was passing again. It had become cold-fused to the shore. Only powerful storm waters could hope to dislodge it.

He would return here after his Objectives were finished, presumably to reenter cold stasis and sleep until awoken again.

 _In the meantime, I practice my swordsman ship. The blade arcs and cuts with a precision I find instinctive, though the blade seems to hold some quality of skill by itself. There is no doubt in my mind that it would swing true for almost anyone, not just for me. No such instrument may fall into enemy hands. This is a tertiary objective._

Kopaka halted before a promising stone and let his arm dance in the air.

 _Three horizontal cuts in 1.5 seconds. I must be faster._ He continued down the beach, headed westward.

Behind Kopaka, the seaside rock tumbled into four slices. One rolled across the ice and fell into the foaming surf.

 _The costal rock offered zero resistance to it. The blade has an excellent edge. My balance was off by a shift in weight to my back sole. I will prioritize perfecting a controlled fighting stance to avoid self-injury._

 _I wonder, if I were to test the blade against my shield, which one would win? There cannot be a perfect defense and offense._

 _More important is the question, 'which one would I choose?'_

 _Obvious._

A dart-like missile, most probably an organic projectile stinger, whistled toward Kopaka. He ducked beneath it, having long noticed with his Mask the insect creature lying in wait for him from inside a seaside cave. It was like a scorpion, but it possessed wings. He reached a squatting position and sprinted, using the flat of his sword to deflect more dart stingers as they were fired. Kopaka's advance caused the creature to retreat further into the cave.

 _Whichever one is more effective,_ he finished his thought, having reached the cave. _I extend my hand and command my power. Ice invades and freezes solid this beast. Its movements have ceased. It is still alive, however, and will remain so until inspection is finished._

 _This one has no reason to attack me outside of a supply of food. However, it does not look like the kind of creature native to this region._

 _Upon close inspection, this animal is wearing a strange mask-like object. Here, a few cuts and it's removed, and dusting off flakes of my frost reveal a dark brown and green mask of unknown type or power. There is evil infesting it. I can sense that, and a tug that pulls at my willpower._

 _Freezing the mask with a touch of my finger has released me of its hold. Wait… something is wrong. The fault lines are shifting._

Kopaka dashed from the cave, even as the ground lurched beneath him. He released a burst of power from the tips of his feet, creating a pair of ice rails over to the beach outside, and grinded his way out of the cave.

 _It collapses behind me as I exit. With my quick use of this power no real harm has befallen me. I stop easily, and now pick myself up to observe that this cave was a temporary construct. The mineral and fault patterns are unnatural compared to those of the surrounding rock._ All this came from the Mask's power, although the knowledge of how to use this Vision was innate to Kopaka, so it seemed.

 _An enemy had become aware of my presence and destroyed this sniping outpost to prevent me from gaining information. There is a chill in the air, and I am not one to feel cold. A presence is focusing on me. I should make haste to retrieve my shield and escape this region before reinforcements arrive._

Pushing off the ground, Kopaka began to pick up speed as he slid across the frozen beach as if it were a flat ice ring, his power letting him dash along with frictionless efficiency, and without making any more noise than a melting flake of snow.

 _I place my mask inside the suva attached to my back armor. I do not understand what becomes of the objects I place in this dome-shaped device, save that all that I will to go inside vanishes into it, and can be retrieved as I command. Perhaps it's shrunk to miniscule size, or maybe is transported to another space. If the first, how much can I store, and is there a size limit? Could I theoretically transport items of incredible size, or is the weight ratio unchanged from the shrinking? If it is the second method, how far and where is this storage space? Can it be accessed manually by me or others, and can the transportation be disrupted?_

Kopaka's eyes narrowed and their blue light grew a little colder. _How do I know it's called a suva?_

 _No matter. It is no more important than how I know I am Kopaka Toa of Ice, an arbiter of Justice upon the unworthy. My Destiny remains unchanged. I will find the evil that exists here. If it is the enemy that set that trap, I shall introduce it to vengeance._

Though he was not one for sentimental values, Kopaka glanced down at the sword on his right. _Vengeance then, though I am impressed I dared to take attention to something so useless while dodging around these pits in the beach. The sands beneath me have vanished—it's all ice and seawater beneath._

He created an ice ramp and executed a long-distance leap, measuring the bios he cleared before landing, and catalogued the stats for later. Knowing the mechanics behind his jump would allow him to produce different percentages of slope for different scenarios, and thus be able to control the speed and distance of each leap.

Landing on a single rock jutting up from the frozen ice sheet, Kopaka came to stand right in front of his goal. There were many holes all around him, and from them came the muted churning of waves crashing against cliffs below the ice sheet. The crabs that had stolen his shield made their nests within this frigid cauldron. The object of his search lay nearby, wedged half-way into a hole where one of the crabs had tried, and failed, to pull it down with it to the nest.

A quick application of Kopaka's sword freed his shield. Now, all that remained was his gauntlet and his operation would be complete. But it was nowhere in sight, even for him. He supposed he must be looking in the wrong direction.

A brief but thorough survey of the nearby sea shelf confirmed the item in question had been carried out by tidal currents and disposed of beyond his reach, or at least not without expending needless time and energy to form an ice elevator into the deep waters. Had he washed up anywhere else he'd observed along the coast to the east or west, he would have encountered waters of moderate to shallow depth. But here in this one spot the sea shelf dropped away into very deep water.

 _The gauntlet is dead weight. I'll retrieve it later before I leave this island._ He kept the shield tight against his side, ready for another ambush, and his eyes on a continuous scan of the surrounding area in all directions. _No more will surprise attacks be efficient. My enemy will have to think of something else._

He began the long slog up to the promontories, mapping out his course as he went. He noticed faults in the rock, mineral veins glittering like strands and globs beneath the grey and white mountain skins, and glassy frozen rivers as black as onyx in the lightless caverns. He noted what lay behind these tunneled mountains, which passes connected where, exactly how steep an angle the most usable trails were, and gauged the risk factor, though he had no formula yet, only gut instinct and logic.

 _If I must use gut instinct as brick and logic for mortar, it will suffice. Better than stumbling around in delirium, rehearsing dreams and searching for lost fragments of nightmares. One can develop serious psychological trauma doing that kind of thing._

Ice gave way around him as his weight shattered thin roofs over pitfalls and freeze-dried rock-cut basins on the steps, which had once been a runoff for a stream or river. They troubled Kopaka not. He'd noticed them long ago and predestined his feet's course to avoid such obvious snares. _Only a complete idiot doesn't watch where they are going, Mask of Vision or not._

He smiled a grim smile as he noticed the snowfall and wind speed increasing as the blizzard moved down from the higher elevations. He quickened his pace toward the smaller biped, which he had designated Prey 1. Prey 2 was shuffling along somewhere around one of the larger peaks. The being's natural camouflage had rendered tracking its progress somewhat difficult, though nothing that produced legitimate alarm or concern.

A few trees of the coniferous variety battled a rugged shelf plateau Prey 2 was loitering. Kopaka named that elevation Mt. Pine. Once Prey 1 was caught, he would move in on 2, preferably with a fresh reserve of information to test, courtesy of an interrogated Prey 1.

It was so easy he suspected a trap. Therefore, he redoubled his vigilance. He would show no mercy. Chances could not be taken that would endanger him during this time of ignorance. Ignorance was vulnerability. And his combat skills were untested. He could not calculate his likelihood of survival or even what he was to calculate against. For all he knew, the sniper creature had been the worst possible threat on this entire continent. Or, it could have been the weakest.

 _Ah. A mistake._ Kopaka frowned. _I must learn where the Prey are headed, and why they're out here in the midst of a blizzard. Neither are shivering or slowing from extended exposure._

 _Most perturbing._

His frown deepened as he zoomed in on Prey 1. The midget was not frozen. It should be by now. The cold realm was supposed to be the harshest environment. And night was falling, which would transform the landscape into a deathtrap too perilous even for Kopaka to take lightly.

I _have alleviated the danger by memorizing where all of the unstable areas are located. Even in the dark I can still see with my memory. Can Prey 1?_

 _Winter is coming,_ he thought to Prey 1 as he began to make a direct approach on the diminutive entity. He had uncovered the likely end-point of Prey 1's journey; a strange contraption, some kind vehicle or robot mechanism, lay buried in a snowdrift at the end of a steep incline. A stand of rugged pines surrounded it to form a half-moon glade.

 _A perfect scenario for ambush._

 _I question the methods of the small and vulnerable thing I'm tracking, and in turn give thought to my own. There is clear contrast in our movements. While I glide and move with stealth into the deepening shade of these trees, crouched low and scanning at all times for enemies, Prey 1 runs for the downed contraption without regard for danger in the environment or from hostiles. That it comes out so late and in such a storm is proof there's more to see in this thing than meets even my eyes._

 _It's either extremely confident in its ability to defend itself or assumes protection. I will forgo the option of ignorance. It clearly_ knows _the terrain. Even as I think this, it dodges and weaves around dangerous land hazards I noted in previous sweeps, all without pause or conscious decision. It's not a new arrival as myself. Therefore, seeing as the creature from the beach was hazardous, my conclusion is that the animal was sent by my enemies and is not native to this barren place, and so Prey 1 is unaware of such a threat. It is also quite possible Prey 1 is an ally or reinforcement to the sniper. Perhaps it came here to confirm my demise?_

 _There is also the potential it is a scout sent to merely observe. Also are the variables of Prey 2. Could that being, standing atop a high point to observe the shoreline, be so powerful as to ensure protection of Prey 1?_

 _If true, stealth is all the more important. I will use but a telltale sign of my power to transform the intensifying blizzard into a screen between us. If the enemy can still detect me through that, then I will have learned much of its potential power._

Though ignorant Prey 1 could not comprehend it, the sudden fury of the blizzard howling in its ears signified the beginning of Kopaka's ambush. True to expectations, Prey 1 continued a blind run through the dark grey storm, one hand before its mask, which was a miniature blue-grey copy of the covering Kopaka's own face.

Prey 1 arrived at the contraption and began to scrape away snow on one side, revealing a block of script consisting of circles circumscribing various lines or dots. Kopaka found he could not read it at all, though it was vaguely familiar to the written language he possessed from his dread dreams.

Suddenly, Prey 1 stopped what it was doing and maneuvered around to the other side of the machine, and started to vigorously scrape away at the snow there. With the light running out, it reached into a pouch at its side and drew forth a glowing orange stone that lit the area around the downed machine. Prey 1 sat the stone atop the machine and then went back to its excavation. Despite its apparent distraction, Prey 1 demonstrated remarkable reaction speed. The instant Kopaka began to form ice at its feet, Prey 1 jumped atop the machine, snagged the lightstone and returned it into its pouch, hopped off the other side and landed at a dead run.

 _You aren't going anywhere,_ Kopaka intoned within his mind, skating nimbly around the inoperable contraption. He was certain it was a kind of technic—a non bio-mechanical entity or robot—that had been designed for combat use. He detected low levels of icy power within it somewhere, though the energy was dormant. It was quite good, in Kopaka's mind, that he'd opted to interrupt. Fighting an automated combatant wouldn't have served his interests.

 _It's a fast thing, even skating as I am, it still gained distance before I initiated my pursuit._

Kopaka looked about him for a quick sweep, and gained forewarning of five objects on the approach from the sky. Prey 1 was using the orange stone's light and its hands to intermittently douse and reveal the light, creating a light-based signal to communicate with the inbound flying objects.

 _Ah, I see we have airborne beings, 70 degrees, altitude 40. Those propellers on their bodies whip the snow in such a way that it shields them from sight, but my Vision pierces such veils with ease. Hmm, they have faces on their rectangular bodies. Interesting. A small variation of the inactive technic behind me. I will dispose of them before they can hurt me, as they've entered an arrow formation and hug the ground now. That's an attack vector. It puts them between Prey 1 and me. I will break their formation. Were they living things…_

Swinging his sword, Kopaka released his power, feeling the chambers within his right arm grow from numb to deathly cold. A pure, white light sped from the slashing blade in the shape of a crescent. The first target was struck by the frost moon and fell apart in a shriek of metal and brief flicker of sparks.

 _…_ _I might pity them._

Prey 1 looked back and began to produce a whistling sound that somehow carried over the howling storm, no, was amplified even! A warning or distress call, Kopaka surmised, but it wouldn't save the airborne forces.

The remaining four enemies nosed toward the ground, where ski-like attachments on their ventral sides came into play. Snow and ice churned behind them, revealing that the attachments doubled not only as skis, but as motorized treads. Blue rods along the right sides of the technic choppers unleashed thin streams of actinic blue on-white light, the edges of the beam seemed to radiate cold! Kopaka's eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing as he calmly raised his shield and coated it in a layer of his hardest ice. The bolts flashed into the shield with the musical crack of breaking icicles and scattered glowing fragments like blue fire. The bolts turned into wicked multi-pronged barbs wherever they landed.

 _Energy, such as that found within myself. But where did these prey obtain such power? Or am I not unique as I thought?_

The Prey 1 had already reached the foot of Mt. Pine. It ducked behind a large boulder and began the futile attempt to hide itself as it continued to climb a switch-back trail.

Meanwhile, the choppers spread out and entered erratic evasive maneuvers. Kopaka deduced they were following a mutual scrip or formula to their movements. He noticed no sign of accidental collision, though there were plenty of near-hits and misses. He didn't bother to analyze the attack pattern. These foes would not live long enough for him to make use of it.

One by one he swung his sword in a sweeping arc, and each time hurled a chopper away in pieces. He walked rather than slid so that he could gain power to his swings. Not once did he slow his pace or lose balance. The Toa of Ice might as well have been swatting at the hail falling around him.

Leaving the remains behind, Kopaka turned again toward Mt. Pine. His Mask's largest lens cycled over the eye slot, granting him a magnified view of Prey 1.

 _You can run,_ he thought with a smile, _but you cannot hide._

Kopaka transitioned from sprint to glide, his powers providing a buffer between him and the surface so as to offer no resistance. It was more accurate to say the soles of his armored boots _became_ the ice, and so produced no friction, but the difference meant nothing to Kopaka, so long as it provided the needed acceleration.

As his speed flatlined, Kopaka began to pump his hands and legs, adding to his speed until the Blizzard screamed past his round mask and the pale blue of dusk snow flashed beneath his racing feet. Not one track remained, not one crystal broken to leave a mark of his passage.

At the apex of his boost, Kopaka took his sword and stabbed it down before him and pushed off of it like a ski pole, releasing a crackling fountain of ice around him. He channeled and directed the advancing power as it transformed into fractals. In a way, he was building billions and billions of crystal structures all at once, designing and directing where each fractal extension was placed.

The move increased his speed, launching him forward a bit as the ice materialized. The sword stretched out to drag behind him, Kopaka advanced on the towering cliffs. He wasn't about to go running up that switchback. No. That was to invite ambush and wasted time. He could not allow the enemy to rendezvous with Prey 2, who was still blinded by the blizzard.

From the sword pumped a continuous stream of his Ice power, and by his design it flowed like a seamless glacier under his feet and ahead of him. It formed a slope at an angle dictate by his desired gradient. His eyes could all but see the measured percentages convert into arching degrees as the ice structure climbed into an arch that dipped toward the cliff 100 bios overhead, like an extending tentacle reaching over the side of a boat.

Kopaka never slowed as he ascended his ramp. In seconds he was up at the top, ahead of Prey 1, who had still needed to crest the ridge. Kopaka ceased to extend the arch and dropped over the end. Tucking himself into a ball, he tumbled end over end to the snow-clad shelf below.

Surprise and terror seized Prey 1 as it reached the top of the ridge and started onto the clearing, only for Kopaka to land in a perfect crouch in front of it a dozen paces away.

The Toa of Ice withdrew his sword from a scabbard built into the shield, rose to his feet and started advancing on Prey 1.

Trembling, Prey 1 let out another shrill whistle and dashed off toward the next cliff face. Atop of this cliff was Prey 2, and it seemed the blizzard veil had been dispelled, though the natural forces still provided an excellent blind.

 _No more of that,_ Kopaka thought after the fleeing Prey 1. He swept his shield arm over the field, turning the ice to almost liquid slush, and then swept his arm outward, as if dismissing a group of onlookers. The slush field turned to sleek, seamless ice as found on a frozen lake. Prey 1's feet slipped out from under it and it went skidding out of control. It flailed in panic as Kopaka approached with measured, silent steps.

The Toa of Ice thrust his shield into the ice, which formed a nice notch to support the weapon. With his free palm raised, he gestured at the blizzard, ordering it to silence. The entire shelf on which he and Prey 1 stood cleared of the howling tempest, with but a few stray snowflakes left to dare Kopaka's order.

"You will answer my questions now," Kopaka said, pointing the tip of his sword at Prey 1's throat. A disconcerting creature, a miniaturized version of himself, was this Prey 1.

 _Curious._

"Are you capable of speech? Do you understand my words?"

He narrowed his eyes further when Prey 1 did not speak. "If you cannot speak I have no use for you." He raised his sword, prepared to freeze the target.

"A-ahh! Oh. Oh my. You… are a _Toa!?"_ the downscaled not-a-toa's eyes widened in amazement, glowing with a pale blue like a hot, summer sky. The color went poor with the thing's off-white and grey-blue armor. Kopaka much preferred his more austere snow and shaded gray. It offered actual camouflage.

"Yes."

 _Which is why you are the one being interrogated._

"First," Kopaka began, "what is your name and species?"

"M-me? I'm a Matoran! My name is Matoro," Prey 1 said, nodding his head as if agreeing with himself, or perhaps encouraging Kopaka to do the same.

"Matoro the Matoran. Charming," Kopaka said. "What do Matoran and Matoro mean?"

"Life, or child of Mata Nui, or some combination or derivative of these root words," Matoro rattled off at once. Obviously this was a question he got often. "At Naming Day, they asked me what I was good for. I… was not good for very much. I was just… a life. So they named me 'Matoro': 'A Life'. But I'm sure you have so many more questions that I a mere Matoran villager cannot answer! Let me just contact Turaga Nujugkh"—Matoro strangled his words when Kopaka shoved his ice blade close against his soft throat armor again.

"Any attempt to alert my second prey will result in your decapitation and embrittlement." Kopaka's voice came as a soft chill breeze through the darkness, as cold as death.

"Ahh…agh," Matoro whined and gagged, his voice now sounding alarmed again, and horrified by what was happening.

In that moment a part of Kopaka, a small part, felt displeased at the sound of his own voice. But Kopaka did not heed it. That part of him was warm and soft. The greater whole of Kopaka, cold and hard, felt no need for wasteful sentiment.

"What is the name of this landmass, and to whom do you hold your allegiance," Kopaka asked, now half distracted by a ping inside his chest. He felt a stirring in the wind, a frigid siphoning of his powers as the Forces of Ice were drawn upon. Someone with power over the elements was contending with him for control of the blizzard.

"Mata Nui," Matoro whimpered.

Kopaka exhaled a long sigh, causing a haze of cold power to settle over the Matoran in a cloud, immobilizing Matoro in a casing of air-clear ice. "You did not answer my second question. Answer both of them or there will be consequences."

"I-I did! This is the Sacred Island, on which is placed the Kini-Nui, the Temple of the Great Spirit. This island is named after Mata Nui himself! We hold allegiance to him, of course, you see?!" Matoro gulped and waited.

"I have seen this Great Temple structure," Kopaka confessed, glancing in the direction of the center of the island. "It lies between the tallest mountain and the active volcano. Peace in your sleep." He raised his sword up, readying to drive it into the Matoran's heart and end its existence swiftly. Now that he had learned this much, it was clear this Turaga character, Prey 2, would yield more results than Prey 1.

 _It's seen too much of my combat skill. What if an enemy abducts it for interrogation as I have done? Besides, it is still a hostile until proven otherwise, however weak. When faced with unknowns that outnumber me, it is prudent to be efficient and surgical._

A soft noise cut through the breathless silence. Kopaka's head snapped up and over his shoulder as he crouched, one hand grabbing his shield and pulling up in defense. His Mask offered near 360 degree vision around himself for several feet. It cost him by leaving him nauseated and unbalanced if he moved suddenly with this power manifested. However, it was an excellent way to take a quick glance at all attack angles, and even grab hold of items without "looking" in the mundane sense, such as grasping the shield while paying attention to incoming projectiles.

 _It's a six-bladed object moving in a curved arc of fire. Judging by its consistent speed and smooth flight through the blizzard overhead, it's moving under its own propulsion. Estimated arrival time is 13 seconds, closing. Origin must be top of cliff, likely source is Prey 2, Turaga Nuju, also likely producer of recent surge of elemental power. It's falling toward me now at increased speed! So fast._

Kopaka skidded backward with a boost from his power, leaving small etches in the mirror-clear surface of his ice field. He went into weaving a series of maneuvers across the ice, leaving figure-eights and other meaningless convergences from his feet as he dodged and wove, eyes trained upon the ice projectile spinning it at him.

 _It remains diametrically opposed to me. I am under the impression that it's increasing in rotation speed. How fast could it be going?_

 _No matter._

Kopaka cantilevered, letting the blade buzz over him, and then went into a shoot position, one leg firing him off the ice to fly backward, his power forming and breaking away from the rim of his shield to form a miniature snowstorm to help hide his position until the real blizzard could return in full force.

 _I don't intend to get hit._

The wind howled in, bringing with it natural hail and ice and freezing rain, but the projectile also came, dashing down to carve its own lines in the ice. Kopaka wove a serpentine dance at blurring speeds with the ice saw. One wrong move, one slight miscalculation and the screaming weapon would cut through one of his limbs, or perhaps his body, like soft clay. Then, taking the chance that his foe was indeed tracking him visually, he spun, exposing his back. At once the saw launched at him. He switched to full-circle view and stabbed backward with his sword, catching the saw between the two tines of his blade, and performed a spin in the opposite direction to the saw's rotation. This didn't bleed it of power as intended.

 _It is composed of ice._ He reached out through his sword. An intangible force, like an invisible engine attached to the saw, resisted him. Kopaka refused to acknowledge its hold. His will broke the unseen power. He finished the spin and flung the projectile with the built-up momentum, and skated over toward the saw, shield raised, as it buried itself into the ice and mountain rock beneath.

Sliding to a halt, Kopaka examined the weapon. It was shaped like a snowflake of giant size, being almost as large as Kopaka's shield. The use of the Ice Elemental power was exceptional, forming a fractal lattice so well-bound that the weapon hadn't shattered even upon impacting and digging into the mountain. Its edges were sharp as his sword. The color was a dark grey with highlights of the aurora, having traces of blue, teal and violet. It was crafted by a master so skilled that they managed to put artistic finish into a disposable product. Kopaka catalogued this as useful information on the enemy.

 _Interesting toy._

He turned to stand straight up at the cliff and Prey 2 high above. Extending and opening his left hand, palm up, as if offering a gift, he channeled his power to construct a thick, wide disk about one foot in length. The disk sped off from Kopaka's hand like a Frisbee snatched away by a ghost, and flew in the opposite direction of the cliff, at first. Then, as it gained speed, it arced back around… and then split into two, and then the two new disks split again into four, and the four to eight, and the eight at last to sixteen.

Kopaka pointed his sword arm at Turaga Nuju and issued his decree through the blizzard. It became his battlecry, a roaring, howling whistling shriek of merciless fury. It also granted the ice disks lift, easing the burden of making them float like snowflakes. Kopaka let them take in the ice flying around them, increasing their mass and kinetic potential to destroy, and let the power of the gregale winds hurl them up at the foe. As they flew, their flight paths grew erratic and crazed, but Kopaka kept them focused toward their target. He remained in complete control of the disks, the blizzard itself, down to the last flake.

And then part of the blizzard betrayed him. Errant bursts of sleet whirled together, the fractals programmed the crystal growth into the shape of sleek spears. They fell upon Kopaka in a storm he'd never expected, causing his focus on the disks to waver, but he was confident they'd hit the Turaga, who was crouched behind a single pine soon to be chopped like firewood.

Raising his shield, Kopaka etched a hard layer of ice defense, and then expanded the layer to form a six-sided fractal shield three times the size of his physical armament's circumference, granting him a total frontal barrier. The first series of spear impacts almost drove him to his knees from the sheer force and weight of the blows. Something like an unseen hammer pounded against his shield just before each spear landed—and the spears landed, despite his command to them that they shatter before impacting.

The Turaga's ice power was not as strong as Kopaka's, not even a quarter of his strength, that he could tell for certain—but the sheer precision with which Prey 2 used this power stunned the Toa of Ice. It was a marvel of tactics and resource management.

He took time to observe the Turaga to see how his own attack had gone.

 _Impossible. How can he dodge and move that way? He's sliding and jumping in mid-air, even twisting upwards and downwards. It must be his Mask. It's giving him means to use invisible force of some kind. And the way he combines it with that polearm to swing and vault… impressive, I confess._

Not one of Kopaka's ice disks struck their target. Each one Prey 2 dodged, deflected and systematically destroyed with its ice pick, all in the space of three seconds of flawless countermoves. Turaga Nuju hit the ground and then began to run at a somewhat awkward shuffle across the plateau, bent on reaching a series of trees and boulders for superior defense.

Even as Prey 2 made for the rocks, Kopaka finished enduring the last of the ice spears, or so he thought. Upon closer observation, he saw a fresh rain of them on the approach from much, much higher up, and realized the frigid lances sent to strike him were but the distraction and the main volley. These spears had taken on the full strength of the winter storm, and the cruel wind had carved in them wicked edges. Each one was almost as thick as Kopaka's torso, and there were almost twenty in number.

Kopaka knew he couldn't defend against so many with his expanded shield by itself, and there was no time to dodge them all. He formed a globe about him. Fractal patterns defined across the surface of the globe like a bubble freezing over in the cold, and then hardened and strengthened as Kopaka tightened and fortified the bonds of the structure. He went into a crouch and flung up his shield, and then filled the globe with his power, freezing himself within a six-foot thick marble of solid, compacted and reinforced ice crystal.

The blades struck with tremendous impact. Invisible hammer blows rained down upon the globe barrier, sending cracks deep into the ice. All the spears aimed for the cracks, directed by the phantom power the Turaga possessed. Though the globe deflected the attacks from his main body, it was cracked to fragments and the spears had all but entrapped him. Kopaka shattered the remnants of the barrier and then focused all his will on the ice spears embedded around him. One by one they flaked into diamond dust that streamed off in the wind.

Knowing well his enemy would not relent in his assault, Kopaka raced for the cliff. White power crackled from his blade once he reached its base, dodging and moving around several hidden crevasses and boulders.

 _The enemy expects another skiing demonstration. How convenient for him who can attack from a distance with ice-breaking attacks. I refuse. Why exert needless energy and expose myself to harm?_

The power intensified from his sword. The arcs of white lightning froze. A block of ice came to be under Kopaka's feet. Then it began to grow, rising higher and higher. His elevator halted at the top of the cliff, some two hundred feet above the elevation where he'd been previously. He at once extended his sword and created a new block of ice, this one measuring double his height and girth. He ordered. The block obeyed, sliding with frictionless grace across the plateau. It slammed into the rocks hiding Turaga Nuju. Moments before the block pulverized the stone in an eruption of crystal and rubble, the grey, black and off-white figure sped from his hiding place. From the opposite direction that he fled, one of those masterful ice shuriken hurtled out in a tight arc toward Kopaka.

 _You think that surprises me?_ Kopaka thought, advancing off his elevator. His Mask's smallest lens adjusted, and then it rotated out to be replaced by the largest optic scope. _I long observed you going through the motions of its formation._

The ice shuriken parted into two, and then the second into a third. All three screamed to high rotation speed. Without breaking stride, Kopaka knocked aside each of them with his sword, unleashing just enough of his power as the blades arrived to break them to splinters. The blizzard carried them over the cliff like confetti.

Something moved up behind Kopaka and struck him in his back. Pain gave way to aching numbness. Spinning about without bending or twisting, and thus not agitate the fresh wound, Kopaka shield-bashed the Turaga, having used full-circle vision to get a glimpse of the foe before he turned, though it had come too late to save him from an injury.

His blow sent the Turaga skidding backward, and then he shattered. Kopaka blinked, uncomprehending. Then he realized there was another Turaga further off, the one that had fled from his ice block. The one he'd just destroyed had been a puppet, an animated ice sculpture.

 _Let us see if two can play at that game._

Invisible, silent blades scourged their way up Kopaka's armor from his feet to his Mask. His train of thought was disrupted. He grunted, in real pain this time as muscle wiring tore and metal opened down to the flesh marrow, from which his blood began to leak. He froze the wounds, and then began to form another ice globe for defense.

Stabbing force pierced his barrier ten times every second. What didn't get caught by his shield guarding his chest and face struck deep wounds into his lower torso and limbs. He froze the wounds shut and coated himself in layers of rime armor, and then began to skate toward the real Turaga.

His walk was awkward, but Kopaka maintained maximum balance as he advanced, waving his shield to snag incoming ice darts the Turaga was throwing and burst them to harmless vapors. He created globe barriers in pulses, making them and then expanding them outward as fast as he could, catching incoming force attacks as they manifested around him. He couldn't disrupt or destroy them as he did the ice projectiles, nor tell exactly where they were, but he could ensure the blows were softened, if nothing else.

Reaching out to the snow, Kopaka began to build as one connects gears and fits keys into slots. Steadily, the snow compacted, fused and moved. Turaga Nuju seemed to understand what was happening around him, and lifted himself skyward with his powers, defying the landscape-sweeping winds driving across the plateau.

Kopaka spun his Mask lenses to scrape off layers of natural ice forming on them, and continued to build up a wave of snow below his fleeing opponent.

 _You are a worthy foe, Turaga Nuju. However—_

-He pulled the snow in the driving wind, as well as any sleet, and constructed a glassy net studded with glacial hooked barbs for snaring notches in the Turaga's armor. He made a lateral clapping motion. The Turaga was caught from above and below by net and rising snow drift.

The Turaga locked gazes with Kopaka, his squarish Mask's eyeholes revealing a pair of cold eyes as blue as Kopaka's own, and full of—

- _Mockery? He mocks even though he has lost._

Kopaka's anger completed its deadening effect upon his restraint. He summoned his full power; let it drive away all emotion, all heat. It filled him like a white oblivion. All the power channeled into his sword, right into that space between the two tines that formed the blade, where a fuller would be on a traditional weapon.

 _However, you're about to be a prisoner, assuming you survive this._

The ice beam crackled like a thunderbolt stretched into a thin smooth bar of white death. But instead of piercing Nuju's heart and encasing everything within and around him in a frozen mausoleum, the Turaga flung his ice pick aside, stretched out both small hands through the net and made a sweeping gesture. The beam bent four separate times around the Turaga in a five-sided halo, the last turn deflecting Kopaka's own beam straight back at him—

- _Impossible…_

Kopaka flung up his shield.

 _Miscalculated desperation,_ he chided himself as the beam struck his shield and spread outward. _This won't stop it._

For one second time itself yielded to the ice and slowed, letting Kopaka watch the blast transform into one of the most fantastic fractal displays he had ever imagined, even in a rare bright dream. A million precise patterns broadened above and around him to form a supreme mosaic. Then, time thawed and the transfixed explosion released. Everything went solid within a twenty foot radius of the blast, all but killing Kopaka and rendering him void of physical sensation or strength.

 _I didn't expect defeat to be so spectacular. This must be what they call art. No matter. I can shatter this encasement. Once I do, I suppose I shall have to resort to negotiations. My strength is spent. My emotions proved my undoing._

He released his power, and the ice shattered and fell all about him. The shards halted before the approaching Turaga, hung in the air for a season, and then began to dance and bob about his head like a kind of bizarre halo or crown. Then the fragments were tossed aside. The Turaga planted his pick axe on the ground in front of him, and smiled up at Kopaka, who was still partially incased from the knees down.

Kopaka released his legs and let the wounded limbs collapse beneath him. He sank to the ground before Nuju.

The Turaga settled down onto his knees as well, ice pick staff lying in front of him. Kopaka arranged his sword just so, though he kept his shield close.

For a long time the two remained as still as if the blizzard had frozen them into corpse statues. Both gazed into the other's eyes, trying to dig beyond the relentless resolve they found there. Kopaka strove hardest, and at last failed before the ancient gaze of Turaga Nuju, which betrayed no emotion or weariness. It was as if the Turaga could stare into eternity and not blink.

"I am Toa Kopaka," he said at last. "I am an Executioner, one who weighs the scales in favor of Justice against the Darkness. I have come to destroy the evil in this land. Direct me toward it and do not hinder me."

"The Muaka that left the pack and said he would hunt alone, failed to return with the kill, because he could not carry it back and so was tired out," the Turaga said. "Then another Muaka came, one from a rival pack, and found the fallen enemy and food. It returned with friends and then they carried both the body of the lone hunter and its catch."

Kopaka remained silent, refusing to answer something he did not understand.

"He who bites victory, bites last," the Turaga said, as if that were another useful piece of information.

Kopaka perceived Matoro approaching. The blizzard was reaching its last breaths.

"Your Turaga speaks in riddles," Kopaka said to the Matoran. "I hate riddles."

"Some scholars hate letters, some philosophers, words," Nuju said with a serene smile. "But they must use them anyway, as the Toa of Ice must use his reason."

"Be thankful the wise Turaga is willing to communicate in Matoran," Matoro said. "At most times I am his translator to others. He rarely speaks without using the language of the local bird rahi."

"What is a rahi?"

"The Matoran word for the beasts of this island," Matoro replied, coming to stand at the right side of the Turaga at a respectful distance behind. He cupped his large, powerful fingers together.

"If you wish to face the darkness, beware. It is powerful," Nuju said.

"I will dispatch it shortly," Kopaka said. "Where is the Darkness?"

"Close," Nuju said, not looking away, not blinking.

Kopaka demonstrated the function of his Mask's triplet of lenses. "Inform me of the cardinal position. I can detect it with ease. You should be aware that my initial surveys yielded no positive, distinct results. Be careful to not deceive me with falsehood."

"It is not somewhere a Mask of X-ray Vision, which is known by another name: 'the Kanohi Akaku', can reach,' Nuju replied.

"I ask again Turaga," Kopaka said, his patience gone. Exasperation seeped in. "Where is it, and how close to our location is the evil that threatens this island? If you will not tell me I will search elsewhere. You are a worthy combatant, but do not attempt to stop me a second time. It will go differently."

At first Nuju was silent again for a time, but he did not look away or blink from his gaze upon Toa Kopaka. Then he said, "It is close, very close."

* * *

Author Notes: First off, thanks to Ribke for all the previous reviews, and I encourage the story's new followers to also chime in on their thoughts on coming chapters. Also, I've been favorited. That's a milestone in my mind. A shout-out to Kamen Rider Raika for that!

On to Arbitered Winter, I hope it wasn't too boring a read.;) Kopaka is really dry, and you have to read between the lines to get the full scope of what's going on in his mind. Sorry this one didn't get up by Sunday, but there was a lot to work on in this chapter. But I guess that just means all the more juicy content to pick through for you, my dear readers.

To ensure that there's no confusion, yes, Kopaka did in fact reference that the robots he fought, and this includes the one Matoro was trying to excavate, were called "technics" in his language. I thought the term robot was clunky and a poor fit for the lore and Maori inspiration of the setting, and then remembered that this is Lego, and that Bionicles are part of the Technic line. As such, expect all future robotic lifeforms or robots to be called "technics". the beings in the story will refer to themselves and other living entities as "Bionicles". Yes, I know, supposedly that's supposed to stand for Biological Chronicle. But that's a poor use of such a cool word in my mind, so consider that a retcon by me, if I'm allowed to use such conceited verbiage. ;P

On the topic of the ice choppers. Search around on your malevolent politically overcorrect search engines for Lego Roborider Ice Choppers. You should find a cool little throw-together with some awesome 90's artwork. These are essentially what the Ko-Matoran Ice Chopper resembles in appearance. Since I am calling them technics, I see no reason not to use cool designs from Bionicle's predecessors for inspiration. After all, couldn't the Bionicles just make the exact same designs if they knew about them anyway? Not much of a stretch.

Also check around for Slizer/Throwbot MOCs and Roborider revamps. There's some awesome stuff out there by geniuses far more competent at building than me! Go search. You won't be disappointed.

Now, for the ice chopper technic itself:

Official Matoran Name: Keo Tuhura

Manufacturer: Ko-Koro

Purpose: patrol craft.

Design features: various unique functions like the caterpillar tread/skis, and of course the chopper blades, which have the ability to create a snow cloak. The internal components use bio-organic parts in its construction, making it quite advanced and expensive for such a small model. However, the bio-components allow for the Keo Tuhura to access ice elemental power, which ituses as an efficient fuel-source and ammo for its main and only weapon.

Armament: frost blaster, fires bolts of ice elemental energy. The power of these bolts intensifies within a cold environment, as ice energy dissipates faster in warm temperatures. (In a desperate attempt to adhere to anything resembling Newtonian Physics)

That is all. for now. Island of Destiny will continue in Chapter 4...


	5. Unearthed Destroyer

Across the island of Mata Nui, six canisters bearing Toa were washing ashore. One of them, however, encountered an accident along the way that bore it far from easy landing on an open beach. Instead of the hazards of open terrain and wildlife, this canister met a strong downward current.

Without any form of significant propulsion, the canister was at the water's mercy. It pulled the derelict down a basalt-pillar rimmed sea cave to its narrow end. At the end lay a snaggle-toothed drain, its grating long broken apart by erosion and an angered Tarakava's fist. Perhaps Destiny was at work this day to ensure the occupant had an open route.

The canister fit snugly into the drain and began its journey. The trip into the depths of the earth was wild and fast, more than enough to thrill the occupant, had he been awake.

After it carried seawater several miles down and inland, the drain emptied into a deep basin. It was circular, like a well, but at least a hundred feet across and fathoms deeper. Metal claws in the ceiling gripped a quartet of small glowstones to provide significant light.

Time marched on with little change in the basin, save that water flowed through several channels, some of which were large enough to admit any sea life caught in the flow. Barnacles and such were nowhere in sight, courtesy of the mineral mixed into the water that rendered it an unhealthy place to grow.

Within the canister, however, there was life aster. Having reached its destination and determined it unsafe for its passenger to emerge, the canister set about instead to awaken Toa Onua so he could recover. Once this was done it would then be a simple matter to escape the basin, reservoir, or whatever it was. The canister did not know and possessed no external understanding, save _what was_ and what _was not_ a safe disembarkation point. And this watery chamber looked inefficient at best.

A wakeful Onua might have gone for calling it a deathtrap, instead!

Certainly he knew, once his mind cleared of the black cobwebs of sleep, that his vessel rocked and bobbed in something liquid. He worked to reform himself, a process he found painful at best, excruciating at the worst times. Much of his body was not attached, this included his head! Were it not for the internal supply of liquid surrounding him, he couldn't have survived, though this too was something he didn't know.

The process of reconstruction would have been impossible, of course, had not Onua's assembler not activated. The black sphere on his chest, detecting movement and will, rose up within the container and began to shift and connect what members had been dismembered and scattered. Within minutes his pieces rested where they belonged, awaiting fresh muscle and sinew to wire them together, and for blood to run again, returning feeling and command.

With nothing else to do but wait, Onu counted the seconds, minutes and then hours. The hours turned to days. On the fourth day he grew impatient. But at last the work was done. He flexed his arms and found them strong enough to lash out at the walls of his cylindrical cell. Was this prison? Was this torture? He wondered these questions and more, but decided not to bother. He knew his name, Onua, and nothing else. That was enough self-examination. He would resume it once he escaped the cylinder.

His movements disturbed his prison, causing it to turn like a barrel and leave him tumbling. It was unpleasant: everything was dark, he couldn't stand up, everything felt the same, and each movement caused the moving floor to bob one way or another. Something banged about amidst the tumble. He caught the objects in each hand: in his right he felt the little sphere that was the assembler, and he returned that to his chest where it belonged, over his heart. The left hand grasped a mask. It felt wedge-shaped, with smooth edges and grooves on the cheeks and narrow, pylon-shaped forehead. He put the mask on and felt everything change. Power suffused him until he felt as if he'd explode and his mind disappear in cacophony!

Then, almost at once, he realized what he had to do to exit. He rolled into a ball and started bowling toward the opposite end of the canister. When he struck, the canister's opposing end tipped upwards. From this point Onua intended to stand up straight, now that there was enough room. But before he could affect this simple first step to getting out safely, the floor screeched in his ear.

Then it unscrewed itself.

With an internal curse, Onua took a furtive breath. He and the treacherous canister lid sank into the teal-colored waters. And they kept falling. The light from overhead grew duller until it darkened into a shadowed gloom. Onua felt his eyes adjust so that he could see into the dark floor of the basin.

 _It's another cylinder. A cylinder within a cylinder. I hope this isn't one of those dreams again. Or worse, this is actually all the world: one bigger container after another._

The lid landed seconds ahead of him with a muted _thunk_ to the floor. Onua felt his feet touch the metal a moment later. _Artificial, assuming there are such things as artificers outside my dreams. Well, why wouldn't there be?_ He cast his head from one side to another, looking for some outlet or drain. He could swim back to the top in no time, and he felt his lungs not in dire need to breathe. What would be the point of wasting time diving back down here to explore?

So he explored.

He passed by a stand of coral growing like a lesion from the floor. Its pale surface was marked by beautiful orange tendrils and a few fish smaller than his fingers.

Onua possessed massive fingers, claws like shovels, and hands, arms and shoulders to match.

He took careful time to delicately brush the rough coral. It was tough, and had managed to create its own little universe down here. He was no master of the waters, but Onua felt a taint on his skin. Something was in the water that killed marine life such as the coral. _What will it do to me, I wonder? Best to not find out._

Moving on, Onua then encountered several shield-like disks, all brown and molding into a thin layer of grime. Disk urchins, all dead by Onua's estimation, and proof the water wasn't healthy. He chanced to look back up, sensing the faintest eclipsing of the light filtering to his eyes.

Up above, circling the canister, were three graceful bodies. They were long and thin, with sharp-looking fins and rows of shining teeth of the purist metal. _Uh-oh. Those don't look friendly._

There was also a slow round thing with four fins moving about one corner of the chamber, but Onua ignored it. It was clearly not a predator, or if it was then there wasn't anything to be done about it but mind his business and keep clear.

Just as he was about to give up on finding anything, Onua located a grated opening on the floor. And then he found a second one on the opposite side of the basin floor. He wanted to inspect further, but his lungs burned in protest. He surfaced, keeping an eye on his neighbors.

The three predators widened their circle, and one made a sharp turn that pointed it from moving in the opposite direction to straight at him. It looked impossible to Onua. Breaking the surface, Onua took several breaths and looked around for somewhere to climb. He saw nothing, and the walls were smooth. He could fight his way up, but how hard would it be to dig through the walls or ceiling? It wasn't worth it.

He took a full gulp of air and submerged again, stroking his arms to carry him out from the closing circle of agile predators. With his strength, it took a mere six or seven strokes to return to the bottom. This seemed to provoke the three circlers, as they darted down after him in pursuit.

On the chamber floor again, Onua raised a claw, prepared to tear away the grating. He felt sure of his power to do just that, but he didn't know if it was wise. _Should I wait and fight off these creatures?_

Before the beasts managed to force Onua's hand, a new opening appeared in the center of the floor. This was an automated result of the water above reaching its high-mark, activating a flotation switch that opened the drain.

A powerful pull yanked Onua off his feet. The three beasts turned away and tried to make for the surface, but they weren't strong enough and lost to the pull. With his physical might, Onua was able to fight back to the grated opening, which he grabbed. Taking hold of the lip of what he hoped was a safe escape hatch; he ripped the grating off with his other claw hand and pulled himself inside.

Onua didn't slacken his pace, aware he might not be able to return above for air. The passage seemed to go on forever, and his lungs burned, but he kept at it, following the route to wherever it must lead. It grew dark, which he took as a bad sign. _Living things were not meant to go this way,_ he realized with a sinking feeling.

 _Perhaps I can still burst through._ He tapped the walls as he kicked along with his legs, listening to the vibrations that returned. _Not hollow, not hollow, wait!_ Up ahead he reached what appeared to be a dead-end, but was in fact a sealed or hatch.

Onua picked up speed and extended his claws and brought them together to form a spear, calling upon the strength of his Mask. With a wet _bong_ he slammed into the barrier in a squatting position, his feet planted on it; his claws sank into the metal. He removed them, put them back into the space in opposite directions and began pulling with all his might. The metal ripped apart as if it were paper in his hands. Water gushed through the opening, encouraging him that air lay beyond. Growing dizzier by the second, he widened the breech and then wriggled through.

The force of the water helped propel him through his hole. Onua landed on polished stone, not metal, with a clack. For a while he remained there to catch his breath. Water ran past him, but did not increase. The metal wasn't going to give under the pressure it could exert, he supposed.

With a sigh, Onua heaved himself up and began to follow the stream down the stone corridor. It was senseless to wait around for something else to go wrong. _At least I can breathe,_ he supposed, eyes squinting in vain through the blackness.

For what felt like hours he followed the tunnel. Then, slowly, light returned to his eyes. He quickened his pace, and soon came to a hole in the floor. The corridor did not extend beyond this point, though there appeared to be a big pipe leading straight up. That way was dark and sealed off with another metal hatch.

Seeing no other path, Onua jumped, eyeing what appeared to be earth far below, though it looked funny.

He found himself falling into a similar chamber to the one he'd recently escaped. Groaning, he put a hand over his Mask as he struck head-first. The ground turned out to be water, as he'd realized the moment he fell into the chamber and got a good look at it. What he'd taken for a floor had been long undisturbed sediment and lightweight pumice-like rock. He hit the muck with a splash, sending rippling cracks over the surface.

Instead of diving down deep, Onua found himself bogged head-first in mud. But he was able to handle mud. It gave before him without effort on his part, and so he pushed himself back up. The mud continued to try and suck him back into its grip, but a stern stomp of his foot hardened it into something like clay.

Surprised, Onua did it again. The hard surface became muddy again. He did another kick and it hardened once more. It felt firmer this time. _I can control it,_ he realized with delight. Puzzlement caught up with Onua. _But what is this power for? Why do I have it? And what is this place?_ He looked around. There appeared to be no fresh clues here, and no exits but the one he'd dropped from, which turned out to sit in the center of a conical ceiling, a perfect prison for he who could not fly. His one solace came from the lights circling the chamber midway up. They were stones, he guessed, though his squinting eyes protested looking at them head-on, cut into square blocks or panels and set into the wall.

He decided to question the earth at his feet. Taking a breath, he submerged and put an ear to the muck, and tapped, turning it solid to transfer further taps. _Hmm. I hear things. Boulders, more rock, sediment. It appears we've got three or four major layers in here, and some big stuff scattered throughout. Guess it's time to dig. What else could be in here that might prove useful? Who knows? Could be a container like mine got washed down into this silt and never opened._

Somehow, the thought of other canisters with beings like him in them sparked a familiar feeling. _Huh, I feel like that's certain, somehow. Is it? I exist, so it's far from impossible. The sounds didn't remind me of cylinders. But I'm still new at this. Or am I? Sometimes I do stuff like I always have done it. And in other cases I'm obviously clumsy._

His thoughts continued to mutter questions as he dug, but no answered followed.

His exploration downward ended at roughly two three hundred feet, far deeper than he expected. Thanks to his mud-hardening trick, he'd transformed a tunnel in his wake. The top of his mud shaft was a distant pale circle. But he didn't feel claustrophobic. He felt at home.

Of much greater concern was the floor itself. It was conical like the roof, and at the base laid a rather nasty-looking screw fitted into a drain. He had a few guesses as to its purpose; it was a grinding mechanism of sorts. _This is a disposal for unwanted material._

The excavation of the large parts of debris he sensed yielded little result. He discovered a few large boulders, the carcass of some sea creature with pincers, a couple of metal scraps, and last but not least a large, Onua-shaped thing. This last one he excavated part-way before deciding to return to it later until he'd dug up everything else. That way he could devote his full attention to studying it.

 _I wonder, it's not another thing quite like me. It's too big by far. This leg here is as tall as me! Alright, I guess whatever else in here is of no concern. I'll finish the excavation right now. What could it hurt?_

Given a few minutes of dedicated digging, Onua unearthed the thing in whole. It was beginning to look like he'd found more than he bargained for. It was not a living thing, so far as he could tell. Or if it was, it had not been for some time, as there was no smell of decay. Its physical condition hinted its parts were connected by artificial means rather than living material.

There was no question the designers built to impress. It stood three times Onua's height, a giant clad in black and purple armor. The armor itself was of highest quality. How Onua knew that he couldn't guess, but he did.

As for purpose, there was little use in pretending. The technic sported six thick arms that ended in three powerful fingers destined to crush. On its back rested a pair of lances in the palms of two dedicated hands. The arms attached to the hands were double jointed and folded into a compact form over the shoulder blades so they would not dangle. Onua guessed the rear arms could reach all the way to the thing's knees if pulled to full extension.

The lances were as wicked as Onua could imagine, being huge and riddled with sharp spikes. He guessed they might be usable as drills, and for a second thought perhaps the technic was a mining unit. One touch of the spikes and a nicked finger later proved him right, after all; they were made to kill. _Still sharp and no hint of rust._

Shrouding the hips and triple-jointed shoulders, all vulnerable stresser-points, hung a series of trapezoidal armor plates. Such was the bulk of this added armor that Onua concluded the designer hadn't taken speed much into account. Then he looked again to the two towering legs, and realized he was not thinking right to this monster-machine's proportions. It could probably still move fast, if be a bit cumbersome in melee. No matter how quick its legs could carry it in a straight line, he refused to see how the technic could be as agile as someone like Onua, who knew his body to be bulky, but light enough to make nimble use of it.

He noticed on close inspection that within the chest of the technic, on either side where lungs would be, rested two black disks. Etched into them were patterns or diagrams of something, but most of the disks it lay hidden behind the chestplate, affording a bad view.

 _Now, this mask is what intrigues me. It's different from mine._ Standing on the technic's shoulders, Onua peered into the lifeless face. The thing's mask was fan-shaped with a pointed extension that would have reminded Onua of a beard, had he ever seen or heard tale of one.

"What did they name it, I wonder," Onua asked aloud. He paused, and then repeated his question, listening to his voice. It was surprising to him how smooth and soft it sounded.

He noticed a long column of scrip on its shoulder armor. Unfortunately, he couldn't read the circular writing. _It's fascinating and detailed. I wish I could spend time learning. Hrn. Maybe I can, once I get out of here and find the people who built this marvelous weapon . . . but if there are weapons, there are enemies._ He looked out across the chamber. It was peaceful here alone. Perhaps he should stay here and wait, or better yet go back to sleep.

 _No, no. What am I thinking? I've wasted time. I hate to be impatient, and I hate being wasteful more._ He rapped the armor on the center of its chest. "Hey there, listen! I'm going to leave now. Thank me some day for excavating you, if you ever see me again!"

He was about to hop off before he realized something. When he rapped the thing on its chest, something in the center, in the core, had felt like earth. _Funny. Or, maybe. . ._

 _I have the power to manipulate the mud in here. Perhaps this thing functions from my power?_ Intrigued, he siphoned some of his strength into the thing's core, to that part that felt like the earth.

Nothing happened. He felt at first like something would. But, alas, he sensed his power being filtered and drained throughout the vast technic, which required _far, far_ more power to even begin inward motion. Onua listened close to the chest, hoping for even a hiss or clink to signify the machine was operational. There came a faint _whirrrrr—snap._ Then the power drained out completely and whatever had tried to move failed to start.

 _I'll come back later and try again once I'm familiar with this facility,_ Onua decided. He hopped down from the chest to the water below, hardening the mud beneath his feet with a wet cracking sound somewhat like breaking ice. He turned up to give the marvelous technic one last look, and then marched toward the other end, where some knocking and listening informed him of a hidden hatch that sat seamless in the wall.

He assumed this access was for maintenance, though it had probably not been used for some time. He was sure this area was abandoned long ago.

 _"_ _I… seeee… you…"_

Onua whirled around before the slurred, lifeless voice finished its first syllable. He gasped and crouched into a guarded position, ready to lash out with his claws, even as he fought a chill running up the length of his back.

The giant had vanished.

In the seconds that followed, Onua shifted his eyes after one whisper or other, always finding empty space. _No ripples of any kind. It's not hanging from the ceiling, so it must be in one of the excavations or down the shaft. Fast and silent, I never would have figured it from appearances._

Step by step, Onua backed up against the hidden hatchway and reached his claws behind his back, feeling for the invisible seam. His forefinger found and dug into the likeliest spot with the claw, and then he added his other fingers. They worked their way up as far as he could stretch behind his back. The operation was silent as stitching. His ears concentrated outward.

A plop and a ripple issued from near the center of the chamber. He watched a second drop of water fall from the canal mouth from the ceiling. _Plop._ He observed the fresh ripple with suspicion. It faded, and the room went silent again. He tested the hardened floor of mud beneath him and slammed his foot down. The shockwave carried his command like a drum roll, instantly causing the excavations he'd made, including the shaft down to the floor, to return to feeble muck. When the ripples faded the chamber had returned to how it had been when he first arrived.

 _It's tough luck to you if that's where you were hiding,_ he thought. _You're buried again._ He gave the ceiling one more glance. It was possible, however unlikely, that the technic had somehow catapulted to the canal mouth in absolute silence. Surely he would be able to hear the splash of it landing to pursue him, he hoped. _Good enough. Time to start this._

He stepped away from the hatch and ripped it open with one arm, spun and pulled it wider. The access rose several feet above Onua's knees, the specified maximum water level for the chamber, and the hatch itself was much taller and wider than Onua expected. He hopped up onto solid stone, and readied to pull the big hatch closed behind him. _No sense in it following me through here, assuming it can squat and crawl._

The hatch tumbled into the water. _Oops,_ Onua thought, surprised again by the Mask's might. _It's going to take practice controlling my own strength. I didn't realize it could be ripped off and tossed so easily. Or maybe they make their doors weak on purpose?_

He started into the tunnel, running one claw along the wall. _I'll bury this as I go._ There came a series of skittering click noises through the earth. Their vibrations ran up his claws and clacked in his ears. He looked toward the entrance.

For one brief moment Onua saw the outline of the technic's head hanging upside-down in the hatchway, peering down the tunnel at him with twinkling green eyes. He blinked several times, but could not see a thing after the instant.

 _Perhaps its Mask veils it from the naked eye. I am thankful my ears are far harder to deceive._ He dug trenches in the wall with his claws, tearing out rock and destabilizing it. Half the passage caved-in with a sudden roar. Something invisible bulldozed into the instant disaster! Two wild shrieks filled the air.

 _They_ can _be drills!_ Onua exclaimed in his own head. His feet pounded into the floor as he raced ahead of the collapsing tunnel. The technic barreled through the clouds of dirt and stone, becoming a ghost clothed in debris. It began to outpace the falling rubble, its twin lance-drills, cyclones of dust, leading the chase.

 _This is like one of the night terrors,_ Onua thought as he ran. Behind him, the ground began to swell or depress wherever he stepped, forming rolling hills and deep pits as the earth undulated in waves. The corridor became a throat of sorts, and it attempted to swallow the charging technic giant. However, as Onua soon learned, the creator of the mechanical warrior understood how masters of the earth fought.

With contemptuous grace, the technic picked up speed, outpacing the collapsing tunnel, landed and spread its six arms and two big legs, pulling itself up off the rippling floor. Spiderlike it looked now with its invisible shroud lost; but it moved like a sand flea—jumping with arms and legs to "skip" along the walls. Moreover, its drills tore apart any of the earth waves that got its path with gusto, and they sang a screaming song for more dirt as they went!

 _I've_ got _to have one of those,_ Onua thought. He'd feel incomplete otherwise! He used the full measure of his strength to leap in mimic of his pursuer. Upon landing, he struck with his claws, breaking through the stone to form a fissure in the floor. It enlarged a second later as he put his claws into the opening and pulled it apart as a surgeon might an open wound. The enemy was almost atop him, but he made wild progress, arms digging until they became a blur. The ceiling sagged overhead and collapsed at his behest. The technic landed above him, arms spread. One drill canted upward and demolished the collapsing ceiling, the other pointed down to blend Onua into fine metal grit…

 _Scrape, throw, scrape throw, scrape throwscrapethrowscrapethrowscrapethrow—_ Instinct fused Onua's desperate mind and body to new heights of speed. The earth trembled at his touch and parted before him, pricked by his shoveling claws. Dirt flew behind him, his tunnel advanced, down, down fifty feet, down, down, down one-fifty.

At two-hundred feet, about 50-60 bios, he paused to look up. What air remained to breathe was being pulled upwards by the drills, their rotation so strong that it created a slight suction. They were closing in: the technic crawled down after him like an eager nightmare monster attempting to snare its prey before they have a chance to wake up. Its green eyes illuminated Onua and the uneven shaft with an eerie lime-green complexion.

The walls vibrated and shed emerald pieces before the keening drills.

In his nightmares, Onua faced such monsters, but he always shifted to another terror when the enemy caught him. He exploded back into motion—if this monster got him there'd be no fresh dream. The luxury of getting caught was gone with the dark hibernation.

Onua slammed is fists into the sides of his tunnel shaft. At once the walls grew hard about him. He raised both claws high above his head, and started to draw them together. He imagined crushing the hardest boulder he'd ever touched. With a groan, the shaft narrowed.

In response to the threat of getting crushed, the technic revealed a new feature to Onua—the trapezoidal armor he'd criticized proved to have an ulterior purpose: they became shields. Behind the plates rested their mounts, which were collapsible arms akin to those holding the lance-drills. Extending the shields out ahead of it created for the technic a flexible barrier that walled off the tunnel and provided room for the drills. In this case, the shields were used as an extra set of arms to brace against the walls. Onua strained, feeling his power failing him. He would have to use quite a bit more to overwhelm the forces at work.

If hardening the tunnel wouldn't work, perhaps softening it would, he decided, and began to dig through one side of the wall. With his attack broken off, the enemy advanced rapidly behind the cover of its interlocked shields. Onua ignored the enemy's moving wall, though he filed that down as yet another thing he wanted for himself. _At this point I should admit it: I want to_ become _that thing._ Then again, he hadn't gotten caught yet. Who was truly superior?

After excavating far enough, Onua hardened his new branch tunnel and then pulled the "supports" his power formed to uphold the main shaft, rendering it as soft as fresh-tilled loam. Scrabbling with its limbs for handholds that dissolved in its grip, the technic fell flailing to the bottom of the shaft. Its shields retracted to their holding positions. Another safety measure forced the drills to stop spinning, though they chewed apart two of the Technic's right arms before slowing to safer speeds.

Onua found himself bursting out into an open, dark void. _There's a floor, don't flounder for footing,_ he ordered himself as he crouched. Disorientation faded fast as he listened to fresh ground music. The tunnel behind him collapsed, burying his pursuer, though not forever. Water droplets clunked out a melody all around him. He felt the vibrations of stalactites and stalagmites thrum about him like the teeth of a hungry beast. And a deep, long note issued back last of all, an echo signaling a massive cave system beyond. He was an ant standing at the edge of a great cliff. Out there, somewhere, lay another whole universe in the dark underground.

Boisterous mantras of labor and mining chanted through the depths to his left ear. That was where he decided to go. Civilization meant food. He was starving! Out in the black beyond there might be nothing at all, and no easy way to go about finding it.

Onua made serious tracks, racing for the walls that thrummed with activity. Just a few quick scoops separated him from the mine, he guessed—the technic's drills shrieked through the wall of loose rock and earth, forewarning its looming return— _he hoped._

A final scoop met empty air, signaling an end to the barrier. Onua passed into the mine and collapsed the wall with a tap of one claw. Glowstones ran the length of the broad corridor ahead of him. He was at the horizontal end of a T-shaped intersection, looking down at what appeared to be a loading bay for a mineshaft with ore and rubble-filled baskets rising up from the hole on rope pulleys.

Something turned a corner and zipped down the corridor at him. It swerved to avoid him, slowing just a bit as it did so, and then continued on to the other end and turned the next corner. Onua thought it reminded him of some kind of insect, and it was carrying a barrel full of what looked like gems or crystals. He tried to keep hunger pains from distracting him. Tracking down his breakfast would have to come after the thing behind him was put in its place.

 _I want its drills. It can't follow me if it can't dig._ He felt the vibrations before the noise reached his ears. _I'll have to gain distance!_ He bolted into a sprint from his crouched position. Behind him, the technic's first drill burst through the wall, followed by the second. The rest of the ebon and black weapon exploded into the corridor an instant later. It tracked the area around it with its search-light eyes, noticed and trained them on Onua and pounded after him on its massive legs.

True to Onua's prediction, the enemy was far faster than it appeared at a dead run, but he was still going to outpace it thanks to his Mask feeding him strength and a head start.

The enemy grew aware of this. It had tracked faster foes before. From within its left shoulder armor the technic withdrew a single disk. It flickered pale light like the mine's glowstones but for a design embossed within the shallow depression on its upward side. The technic's strong arms flexed, hurling the disk at such speeds it became a blur.

Onua tried to dodge at the last moment. The disk tracked him, moving at a sudden right angle in midflight! Grunting, Onua sprung upwards and extended his claws. Catching the disk between them, he finished a front-flip, landed on his feet and aimed to hurl the disk back. It continued to spin, bleeding out its speed against his claws in a _sizzling snap-pop-crackle_ of sparks. Later, Onua would recall a lack of metal-on-metal shrieking.

A tremor ran through Onua. The ground beneath him spider-webbed with cracks and buckled under his weight, his legs trembled as he felt his arms grow tired from holding the disks. His internal power that granted him such affinity with the earth crackled out of his wrists and forearms in the form of twisting tendrils. The electric chatter filled his ears. Shocked with surprise, he took a moment to realize it was the disk causing all this! He hurled it away from himself and the technic, fearing it would be caught and they'd have to exchange again.

 _This is no game, either!_ He summoned his full strength and began to move, achieving a fast jog and no more. He felt the power coursing over him in white thunderbolts. The resounding pops of each tendril coincided with a sensation of lightness. Moving worked whatever had just happened out of his system. _Oh no,_ he thought, and gasped as the disk reached the open shaft ahead and performed a u-turn, rushing back around on a comet tail of light. _Whoa, whoa, whoa,_ that's _not fair ._ This was not a game, a voice in his chided. He smiled and threw himself to the ground. On impact he crunched into the earthen floor and sank as if into a mud bath. He pulled the earth around him to form a mound over him like a blanket. The disk bounced off with a muted thump.

Onua felt the last of the weightiness release his limbs. Sensing the pounding steps of the enemy approaching fast, he started to dig like a frog, both arms reaching forward and then spreading outward, knocking dirt aside. In this fashion he "swam" the rest of the distance to the edge of the floor where it ended in the mineshaft.

The technic began to leap along the ceiling, reaching the mineshaft ahead of Onua, eyes never ceasing to track his burrowing trail in its green rays. When Onua started to dig parallel to the shaft, the technic dropped down and began to climb along its sides after him. It stung the wall with its lances, questing for Onua.

 _Aha!_ Grunting, Onua erupted from the mineshaft wall, sailing over the technic's head, right between the lance-drills. He snagged the enemy's head with a claw as he past. His legs struggled for purchase as the enemy began to thrash and expand its shields to knock him off. The lance-drills ceased spinning and swiveled around to, but they could only sweep across its back, not stab, lest they by accident strike the technic itself.

Laughing in his head, Onua turned the shield bashes into a series of springboards, hopping and somersaulting out of the way of the lances or grabbing arms, which he then used as gymnastic bars, performing flips and swings to avoid fresh blows. The opportunity he was looking for arrived when one of the lances stabbed right below him and the other above. Wrapping his legs about the lower one, he gripped the other in a hug and started prying it from its armature hand's grip. The fingers tightened in a fist, but to no avail. Onua's fingers proved far stronger.

Ripping the lance free, Onua gripped it with all his might as the technic attempted to slam him against the side of the wall. Onua broke into a grin. _Just what I ordered!_ He unwrapped himself from the lance arm, ricocheted off the wall and fell into his enemy's face, plunging the lance into its chest!

 _You must have regained the will to move because of the power I lent you. I know where that power is stored. Let's see you keep moving with a disposal valve in your core!_

The lance penetrated between the middle of the chestplate's three major segments, pierced and then tore through the technic's core, and then lodged to a jolting halt thanks to the spikes as they caught on internal parts.

The technic's eyes flashed, flickered, and went dim. One arm, which had been reaching for Onua's face, slowed to a halt a bare inch from his mask. Onua stared for a moment into the palm and its splayed fingers, and then exhaled a breath, and began to push against the technic's chest to free his new weapon.

A vengeful lance-drill revved to life over Onua's head, ready to stab! The arm resumed its grab, closing about Onua's Mask and squeezing, harder, harder—Onua heard the Mask creaking as it reached its limit!

 _whirrrrr—snap!_

Silence struck down the sound of the technic's lance-drill. It spun down and went still. The technic's fingers loosened a bit with a faint hiss of released pressure. Similar sighs issued all about the black giant. It began to grow limp and sag as artificial muscle and sinew slackened.

Onua gripped his stolen lance in one hand, held onto the wall with the other, and kicked the technic in the head, punting it off its mountings into the center of the mineshaft like a sports ball. The mechanical body lurched back from the blow, its chest armor protesting as the lance tore its way out, opening up the chest cavity as it did so.

Gravity asserted itself.

With a last groan and whine of dismembered metal, the chest armor gave way and the technic slipped off the barbed length of its own lance, plunging into the darkness. Onua watched and listened, but heard no sound even after it had long vanished from his sight.

Twirling the spear a few times to send the attached scraps of metal flying off, Onua put it to his back and let his suva eat it. He paused, dumbfounded by what had just happened. The spear just vanished from his hand! And he didn't feel surprised or worried! _What's wrong with me? I mean, it felt natural and all, but that can't be normal; what in Mata Nui's name just happened!?_

"Who is Mata Nui?" he asked aloud, confused at his own use of the oath.

Muttering to himself, Onua climbed back up to the top of the mineshaft. As he pulled himself over the ledge, a hooked spear touched his chin. Similar spears, most similar to the lance he'd just stolen, formed a semicircular fence about him. The small wielders of the weapons stood with grimness and wonder in their eyes and expressions, such as their masks would allow.

One figure stood taller than the rest. He strode forward, his smooth-edged mask portraying wisdom and a keen mind. The figure smiled. "Welcome, invader, to the Great Mines of Onu-Koro. Do you wish to make any formal orders, or would you like to apply for work," the figure asked with a note of sarcasm.

"H-hands out in front," one of the little pigmy spear-holders shouted.

Complying put Onua's wicked-looking claws in front of their faces. Each shovel-finger outsized their spearheads, and looked far more threatening to the spear-holders, who all drew back.

"Y-you can put them back now," the pigmy said lamely.

"Sure," Onua said, standing slowly to his feet. He put one hand behind his back, let the lance-drill flash into existence behind him, and slammed the weapon butt-first onto the ledge beside him. A slight suggestion from him caused the ground to quake a little, unsteadying his captors' feet. He hummed and smiled as the spear-wielders and the elder looked up at the lance, which was a touch taller than Onua, and thicker than his waist. "I'm starving," he said with a cheerful wave of his free hand. "I'd be happy to work for some of your energy crystals. Digging is what I do, you see."

To his surprise, instead of attacking him outright for his flippant attitude, his listeners threw down their spears and bowed to their knees. Only the elder remained standing, but he too dipped his head in respect at Onua.

"What… did I say? What are they doing," he asked the elder.

"They pay honor to you," the figure said. "I am Whenua, Turaga of Onu-Koro. Your name?"

"Onua. Did you say _Onu._ Koro?" _What connection does that have with my name? Or does it any?_ "Why do they?"

"It is only your due," Whenua said, bowing formally this time, one hand over his heart. He looked up. "Welcome, we say again, to your mine, Onua, Toa of Earth."

"My mine," Onua whispered in quiet astonishment. "Hmm. And greetings to you, as well," he said, remembering his manners. He bowed.

"Do you have any formal requests," Whenua asked again, this time with a playful twinkle in his eyes. "A crate-full of energy crystals, perhaps? You must have quite the appetite to sate after destroying our sentry."

 _Ho-hmm,_ Onua hummed to himself happily, feeling that grumbling ache in his stomach with one hand. "Yes, I think I do, Turaga." He raised one hand and wriggled all the fingers. "Make it 3 crates. Digging for my life worked up quite the appetite." His own eye twinkled, though from a humor a touch darker than Whenua's.

"I'm sure, indeed," Whenua replied with a knowing smile as he turned aside. "As you wish, Mighty Onua, we obey. Three crates."


	6. Masons of Blood

Walking through the center street of Po-Koro, Pohatu Toa of Stone felt supreme unease. _It's too quiet for the middle of a big canyon like this. Echoes should be bouncing all over the place._

"It is the buildings and the nature of their construction," Turaga Onewa said. His voice was soft and precise. His steps were careful and measured, precise. Everything about him was precise. Pohatu didn't like this. "It frustrates you," Onewa said.

"Well…" Pohatu looked at the Po-Matoran going about their work. Their buff and brown armor blended in with their pale buildings and wall-side dwellings. None of them uttered a noise Pohatu could hear, even with a hand up to one ear and his head cocked to the side. He saw mouths moving, but the whispers didn't have the strength to reach him. "It's like"—

-"looking at a city of ghosts," Onewa said.

Pohatu glared sidelong at Onewa, but said nothing. _Why bother?_ "It's just that, you know, don't you believe there should be some more cheer around this place? It's a marvelous city, this Po-Koro!" he threw his hands up to encompass both high walls of the canyon.

"You are still new to the world, and have yet to appreciate the subtle qualities of a quiet city," Onewa replied, guiding Pohatu toward a massive structure cut into a semi-circular bay in the canyon. Its roof was a dome of dark brown stone, supported by many smooth pillars running in colonnades beneath it.

Matoran moving to and from the building made a path for Toa and Turaga well before their coming. It was easy to spot the pair, Pohatu being the loudest thing in the city.

"See there," Pohatu said, pointing a finger at several clusters of Po-Matoran slinking into the dark openings of buildings or homes delved into the canyon wall at ground level. "Turaga, your people are scared of me because I like to laugh and wave. And shout. What's wrong with everyone? Not all the Matoran in Po-Koro are sick."

Turaga Onewa decided not to respond, instead moving around several statues spaced about a pleasant little rock garden between the main colonnade entrance and the city proper. They stepped over a bridge hewn from the very rock of the canyon. It was as if it were a natural, miniature arch carved by the babbling stream that ran beneath it.

Pohatu frowned at his surroundings again. _These Po-Matoran strike me as masterful artists. I also think that brook is the loudest thing in the city._

"The Matoran will accept your compliments humbly," Onewa said.

A Matoran halted them on the other side of the bridge with a raised hand.

Onewa turned to her and said, "Hiokii will be fine. Clay permeation takes time before its effects are known."

The Matoran nodded and scurried off.

"Do you ever get tired of doing that," Pohatu asked as they resumed walking. "You've been reading people's minds this whole time with that mask. Don't you consider it rude?"

Onewa cracked a dry smile. "Which is ruder: the thoughts spoken freely or the poison hidden behind the mask?"

"You know my answer," Pohatu said.

Onewa nodded as they strode from the sand-dusted streets into the cool colonnades. Matoran of several Koror speckled color amidst the villagers of Po-Koro attending the massive building. They gasped and pointed, but the Toa of Stone for once took no noticed, gazing in silence at the walls and columns. Pohatu's fascination with the architecture pleased Onewa.

As they progressed, the Toa was able to get a grasp this was a trading center, and yet showed patience in not asking yet. Or, perhaps he simply expected Onewa to provide a running question and answer monologue for his mind? How futile, but quaint. He had accepted the subliminal suggestion without trouble, despite suspecting its presence in his otherwise free mind.

The various foreign Matoran paused to gape at Pohatu as he strode by at a languid walk to keep up with Onewa's ever-measured pace. Indeed, Onewa did in fact measure the path ahead of him. He'd learned, through thousands of years, to make walking productive. "You should learn to watch where you are going," Onewa suggested. "One never knows what use you might have for even the cobblestones beneath your feet, Toa of Stone."

Pohatu glanced sidelong at him as was his personality's custom. "That almost sounds like the start of a test, Turaga."

Onewa kept walking, not rising to the bait, in silence. Let the one who didn't have the Komau attempt to read his mind. It was amazing practice to sharpen one's _own_ mind.

After the colonnade extended to a certain point the pillars gave way to a massive chamber of cool, buff marble. Various veins of trace minerals winked with each of the Toa and Turaga's steps. Matoran worked together to move crates, baskets, urns and various other containers to and from a large central station. To Pohatu it resembled an alter, or something. It was round, and was raised upon a dais. They drew close. Onewa lift his right hand up for a moment, and then downward.

The nearby Po-Koro guardsmen, all of whom wore black rather than brown, with black, orange or yellow masks, moved forward and cleared the area. Most Po-Matoran seemed to slide back en masse in wordless precision. The minority of Le, Ga and Onu-Matoran made a few complaints, particularly a feisty Ga-Matoran who refused to leave at first. She also wanted to speak with the "Hero of Prophesy".

"Should I…" Pohatu started, finishing the thought in his head.

 _"…_ _go speak to her? It would calm her down. And tell me, how much knowledge of me has been spread through the other Koro?"_

Onewa turned to look at Pohatu. "Knowledge enough. Your are merely one of six Toa promised to each Koro. The Toa of Water has apparently not yet reached this particular Ga-Matoran."

"Six? Others?" This stopped him in his tracks, allowing the guards to usher Hali a respectable distance.

Onewa gestured with his hammer staff and led Pohatu to ascend the five steps to the top of the dais.

"What is this? You must know I'm dying to know why, and why you sent the Ga-Matoran away," Pohatu said.

"One question at a time," Onewa said, rubbing a hand over the smooth dome. "You asked me to explain the nature of the suva on your back. This building is a house built to protect our village's Suva, here. Like the organ upon your back, this is an organ, the _heart_ of Po-Koro's commerce."

Onewa's smile chiseled out an extra inch of his face from observing Pohatu's two-sided reaction.

"Turaga, I feel that I don't… that's not exactly the explanation I was expecting."

But in his mind, Pohatu thought, _"This elder is either going senile, or this universe is a touch weird. Onewa's the weirdest part—oh Mata Nui, he just heard that! Got to focus, block him out."_ His mind conjured up the image of a nice, flat oval stone, polished and simple. He tried not to think about anything else, but to Onewa it was like watching someone hide their body behind an especially skinny tree in an attempt to escape from his eyes.

Masks hid the physical features. Lies cloaked the soul. This was no cynicism on Onewa's part. It allowed him to… work on other Bionicles. At first falsehood frustrated him in his youth. He understood now that discovering and sorting between Lie and Truth was his Duty. His Destiny was to carve the Lies into a fine sculpture of the Truth others never expressed the courage to shape for themselves.

"Did you regain your memory?"

"No, why do ask _that,_ " Pohatu asked, wrong-footed by the sudden question.

"So you have come into no secret new knowledge of how the world works? No you have not, Toa of Stone. Tell me, what are we made of?"

"That… I'm not certain. Our bodies? Is this a trick question, Onewa?"

Onewa shook his head and kept his hand open in expectation.

"Then… is this a _creature?"_ Pohatu turned to look with newfound disgust at the Po-Suva. He poked it. It felt like stone beneath his touch, resistant, unyielding, ready to throw back at him the force he released into it, and shatter in the counterblow. "It feels like rock, Turaga, not, not. It doesn't feel alive to _me,_ Turaga. Is what I mean." He said this with a touch of gentleness, not wanting to offend Onewa anymore than his thoughts already had.

"Your kindness will win you many friends," Onewa said. "I am not offended. You are."

Pohatu blinked and then shrugged with a sigh. "If you say so. What I really feel is confusion."

"Your first emotions upon waking up on that beach where we found you lying in pieces," Onewa said, electing to gentle his own tone. Pohatu was a kind soul. Such qualities yielded the most adamantine resolve when forged through adversity, or shattered into bitter flinty fragments. Onewa resolved not to allow the latter. Pohatu, like the Po-Matoran before him, would learn to subdue himself, and soon, before Destiny forced him to leave and join the others. Onewa well knew how frustrating _that_ might be for Pohatu.

Pohatu laughed a little. "You can say that again." He rubbed his hip, which had been separated from him upon waking up. "So what's this about the Suva and what we're made from? I'm missing a piece to this conversation."

Onewa cracked another smile. "What makes you think the suva on your back is not alive? Did I not call it an organ? They are the same. Both Toa suva and Koro Suva require life to live. Why do you find it surprising that this one is stone, Pohatu? What are we, the Bionicle, made of?"

Pohatu thought about it, tapped himself, peered at himself and even twisted around a bit to check the back of his legs and rear to make sure somebody hadn't stuck something on there without his noticing. Nerves were supposed to help with detecting pranks of this sort, so he should feel something stick him when placed. "Aha," Pohatu said, snapping his fingers. "We are metal-armored. Despite this, we've got nerves and muscle-wiring and softer metal beneath. Even a week-older like me knows that. Hey, I even spent all my time on the ground _regrowing. Ok,_ I get it now. This thing has stone-flesh rather than metal-flesh. A bit strange, but I can accept it if I have to. Just don't go asking me to wear rock, I'm not _that_ much in tune with my element." He waited for Onewa to laugh. The Turaga did not so much as smile.

Onewa nodded and moved to a U-shaped cut in the Suva. Sticking his hand in the space, he waited for a moment. With a flash, a blue crystal appeared in his hand. He drew it out and held it up for Pohatu. "This was harvested from the lava fields of Ta-Koro. A farmer transported his produce to the market, placed it within the Suva, or in a storehouse to await transfer into it when its container's turn came. Whatever goes into a Suva becomes closeted within its personal space, a separate world apart from ours to which the Suva is the doorway. Both the Ta and Po-Koro Suva here are grown from the same seed, and so share the same store world. Once the Ta-Matoran's crystal was transported to that space, I extracted it many kios away, here, in Po-Koro."

Pohatu nodded slowly. "That explains how my Suva works. Tell me, why isn't this place more busy? It is large enough to be a hub of activity, but I don't see enough of it. Shouldn't this place be packed?"

Stepping down the dais, Onewa turned to the right and started away from the Po-Suva. "Come, Pohatu. Let's crack the crystal elsewhere. You need a proper diet to recover your full strength." He tossed the crystal behind his back at the Toa, who caught it with a lightning quick grab. A few Matoran in the watching crowd uttered surprised gasps. None of them were Po-Matoran.

The Toa of Stone followed with an amiable shrug, displaying surprising patience despite a supreme lack of it in his mind. _"I've got a thousand questions for you. Can't you—I'm going to regret asking this—speak to me head to head? Or maybe show me one of those flashy visions you talked about? There's more I need to be doing here than learning stuff you claim a newborn Matoran learns on Naming Day. What is Naming Day, by the way? And how do we make more of us? Is that an inappropriate question?"_

Onewa waved Pohatu to keep following.

They made their way back outside and down the run of the canyon. Its sides were smoother here, and it split into three smaller passes, their polished sides shown in a striated red and ochre. Above spanned dozens of curvaceous natural arches, limber and uneven by the whims of the sea winds that carved them out. White and Brown banners emblazoned with the symbol of Po-Koro, an abstract fortress encircled by three pillars, fluttered from hooks beneath the arches. Pohatu thought the symbols looked nothing of the sort like what he'd been told they described, and didn't quite like the look of the flags. Maybe their cut didn't agree with him. Or perhaps they looked as washed-out as the inhabitants acted.

"You have stopped talking," Onewa said. "Will we cast meaningful glances at one another forever?"

But Pohatu decided to be obstinate. He knew Onewa could read his thoughts. _I won't be baited. Besides, you ignore that question about the villagers. There's no point in trying again._

Onewa suppressed a sigh. It was for the Toa's own good he was doing it all this way. Pohatu had to learn to think if he wanted to learn. But he avoided answering questions about the Matoran for the simple reason that Pohatu was just not prepared for that burden. To help them in that way would require a leader. Pohatu was many things, but a leader he was not. Not yet, and may never be, if Onewa were to let him remain unmolded.

They came to the end of the canyons and the few homes bored into them. Here the walls diminished into three fingers that crept to the edge of a massive cliff, reminding Pohatu of some kind of beast's claws, though they were smooth and not rugged. Within these formations lay hidden emplacements and supply tunnels. He presumed it was for defense.

Coming to a halt, the Toa and Turaga stood at the extended lip of the cliff, a grand natural balcony to overlook the vast wave-tossed and troubled sea. Hundreds of stone pillars and arches extended from a natural sea wall about a hundred feet from the base of the cliff on which the two stood. The remnants of more were visible further out. "The last of the seaside canyons," Onewa said, gesturing with a slow sweep of his arm. "For almost a kio out it went."

Pohatu shaded his eyes with a hand. "It's a nice view. Pity the ocean came inland so much. Does this happen often around these parts?"

Onewa nodded. "Po-Wahi is a low-country for many of its parts, very flat. But the sea you see here came in one day. Makuta," he said, breathing the name. He knew Pohatu recognized the name as familiar, and shuddered upon hearing it from some blackened memory stirring in the deep places of his mind; into those places even Onewa failed to explore and decipher. They were riddled with confusion and darkness. Despair.

" _He_ did this?" Pohatu pointed at the sea in incredulity. "This Makuta… he's not a sea dweller is he? Because I don't know if I can fight _that_."

"You will be helped," Onewa assured, as if the danger were long settled.

"How much help?"

Onewa turned slowly around and walked back to a large hole cut into the cliff floor. Pohatu followed, and kicked a nearby pebble in a visible sign of frustration. When he put his foot down, the stone crunched beneath him and he stumbled. Reaching out to command the stone to remain firm, he realized too late that the rock was already firm in the places he was attempting to step. With a pop, one piece popped up as if spring-loaded, knocking him of balance again. Unable to recover, he collapsed onto his back.

"Ouch." Pohatu rubbed his head and propped himself up on an elbow. He gave Onewa a wry smile and tapped out the last of his patience with a finger against the rock. "Enjoyed the comedy routine?"

Onewa walked back with measured slowness, and, putting a hand on Pohatu's knee, knelt down beside him. "Your body remains somewhat weak. The knees are slow to heal from the calcification they experienced in the canister."

"I guess so," Pohatu said. He was frustrated, because no matter how hard he searched, there was no sign of power being used to tamper with the rock. He'd been careful about where he stepped ever since Onewa forewarned of needing the rocks under his step, always searching and sensing for a sign of a trick from the Turaga. But there was nothing.

Of course there hadn't. Onewa had taken quite some time mastering his power over the elements as a Turaga, learning to do more with less, and all that, much more. And he had learned, during the Great War's earlier years, in which the sea had come roaring in on the back of a nightmarish tsunami, the value of precise control. So much could be done. He had used trace amounts of his power, so small that Pohatu hadn't noticed its continued use right under his nose, all the way from when they first started into the Po-Suva. A cut here, a new fault line there, some tell-tale stress below, and some more at specific angles, Onewa sculpted a trap. And Pohatu, poor Toa of Stone, blundered right into it by providing the last piece to make it work: his weight.

By having searched for the obvious, Pohatu had missed the clues. It was true, too, that he knew little of Onewa's ways or methods. Conversely, Onewa had the luxury of learning something new with each passing second he watched Pohatu's mind work. There was no contest, really, not at all. Onewa preferred it this way. Challenges often ended it lives lost and resources or heritage taken.

Onewa considered himself proficient a strategist over his domain, but Makuta was the distant master. Pohatu had to learn the craft of trickery, therefore, to recognize the lies of the enemy. He was too straight-forward and honest to know or expect deception.

"Sit up and follow me. We will go to my personal apothecary. That is the purpose for this trip out of the hospital. You are well, but not _ready,_ Pohatu, to run again."

"How do you know I ever intend to run?" Pohatu snapped. "I might enjoy walking. Well, guess I can't say it keeps me on my feet any easier," he said, letting his frustration go in an instant.

Onewa nodded. "True. Even those who walk in slowness might stumble. Anecdotes weren't my point; it was your Mask of Power, the Kanohi Kakama, the Great Mask of Speed. Don't try it with your knees as they are, or back into the infirmary springs you shall go, and stay there." He did not ask if Pohatu understood. A physician who could read thoughts and imprint his advice as orders never asked such questions often, unless he wanted to.

Together, they returned to the hole, in which had been cut a sturdy stone stair. They walked its spiral down to deeper levels of Po-Koro.

Many Matoran met Onewa and Pohatu during the descent, for the stare was large and connected the canyon district to the cliff wards, which bore deep into the mountain and carved the cliff face into a magnificent relief of pillars, balconies, minarets, stairs and other formations. Upon all of these were tattooed, with the use of small, air-steel hammers and uncounted silver and amber nails, each as fragile as glass, detailed pictures of rahi beasts, Matoran, vines, trees and vast arrays of the wonders of the deep, into which the Po-Matoran dove for pearl and coral amongst the reefs infesting their old homes long drowned by the ancient flood wave.

Within the stair, glowstones the color of Pohatu and Onewa's eyes, intense amber, were set into alcoves along the wall with sloped rims to block or bend the light. They produced flowers from the light and shadows cast along the walls and ceiling, which were covered in vine carvings, transforming the spiral stairwell into a scenic jungle trek.

"This is beautiful," Pohatu said in hushed tones to various Matoran as they passed. None gave more than a quiet nod and hurried up or down on their silent feet.

Near the bottom of the cliff, they exited the stair and came into one of the hollowed-out districts. They navigated the crowded thoroughfare and came before a building carved from the rock. After more than a thousand years of mining, the building was left standing alone as a giant uneven pillar.

"This is it," the Turaga said. Onewa's apothecary was guarded to ensure privacy for the Toa and Turaga. The two black-masked Matoran saluted and uncrossed their war hammers as the two approached the entrance.

Inside, Onewa was surprised to find how scattered and messy was the interior, what of it he could see in the dark. Piles of things lay scattered all around him, or loomed in corners like unstable buildings in the process of collapse in slow motion. He smelled things that made his skin crawl, and he drew back when he felt a soft creaking under his feet when he stepped.

"Cave beetles again," Onewa muttered in anger. "I apologize for the mess. Three thousand years of life have not cured me of poor organizational skill in my personal space. Although it's not as bad as it appears in the light." He lit a large brazier in the middle of the room, illuminating rows of desks and tables stacked high with tablets and cubes.

Pohatu blinked several times, shocked to find himself surrounded by almost a dozen Onewas! They stared at him with noble, somber or determined expressions on their masks. Some were painted; others remained the same buff or grey of the stone from which the carver chiseled them.

"Gifts? I'm curious," Pohatu said, after taking it all in, "what are you keeping these hidden in here for?"

"It's the Po-Matoran tradition of honoring a respected individual," Onewa said. He lit a torch and put it into the partially closed hand of one of his stone replicas. "These presents are too flattering for public display, and so accumulate in here.

"Follow me. I didn't come to show you what I look like in pure marble and granite."

Pohatu followed Onewa down to a basement level of the house. The Turaga used a torch to light diamond-shaped wall sconces as they went, forcing the shadows to flee.

"Say," Pohatu began, then stopped to let the Turaga read his thoughts. He was doing it anyway, so why talk? The darkness kept reminding him of the name. " _Makuta"_ chilled him in his core and seemed to write itself in the shadows spilling from his feet or peel off the walls to drift into his ears as a whisper. _Makuta…_

"Patience. We will talk about your Destiny after your examination. A crippled hero is a hindrance."

They reached a large, oval landing. Onewa stepped up to the stone door. It was round and twice Pohatu's height and width. The Toa of Stone watched the Turaga intently. With a fraction of effort, Onewa opened the lock with his power and rolled the stone back, all without even touch it or moving from his spot. Once finished, Onewa turned sidelong and stared at Pohatu, waiting for a response. A minute ticked by. Pohatu examined the surrounding stone with his hands and tapped the walls and floor with his feet. Eventually he gave up and stood back, hands on his hips.

"I give up," Pohatu said, shaking his head. "How did you do that?"

"Do not give up after finding nothing on your first try," Onewa advised, and ushered Pohatu through the door. "Prepare for what you find beyond," he added, and stepped in after him. The moment he passed over the threshold did the door roll back into place with no sound but for the hissing sigh of crushed sand.

Onewa heard Pohatu draw in a gasp as his mind jumped in surprise and revolution. The flames of Onewa's torch sent shadows scrambling over Matoran bodies. Their eyes had gone out, the soul extinguished, proof they were dead.

There were rows of them, all arranged in circles or even in piles upon giant eight-sided tiles that split up the chamber floor. The morgue was large, about four or five times the size of Onewa's house on the public levels. Identical, featureless-smooth masks covered every Matoran's face. The mouths were fixed into a permanent, serene smile. Their off-white color stood out well in the dark. Unadorned sets of the masks of the dead covered all of the chamber's twelve walls. Their black eyeholes stared at Pohatu with black, yearning eyes. Their smiles leered at him through the gloom.

Pohatu spun to face Onewa. "You call this an apothecary?"

"Have I called it otherwise?" Onewa leaned on his staff hammer.

"Why are these remains here? Is not there a more… a more dignified burial for your people?"

"In other Koro," Onewa said. "In Po-Koro we bring what remains of our fallen here, and other, similar places."

"For what purpose?"

"For legacy," Onewa said. He sensed anger and distrust. "Will you add another body to this morgue?" He watched Pohatu approach with no visible reaction, even when the Toa loomed, powerful and tall, over him, the feeble and short Turaga.

"There is a foul smell in the air. I don't think it's the corpses," Pohatu said softly.

"Corroding and rusting flesh-metal is not a smell to take lightly," Onewa replied. "One never gets used to it any more than the company of the dead. Come. In the level below is my apothecary."

"Wanting to show me the next floor in your little house of horrors?"

Onewa wagged a finger. "Pohatu, if I wanted to do you harm, there was ample opportunity throughout your stay."

"I don't enjoy being persuaded by that kind of logic," Pohatu countered. He hated to admit it, but Onewa did in fact have a point there.

"If you don't enjoy being persuaded by simple logic, then you are just an idiot," Onewa said, shrugging. "Follow me. I will teach you what it means to be a Toa of Stone."

Pohatu frowned. _And what does he mean by that?_

"There are some things better shown than learned," Onewa answered. Another question flitted through Pohatu's disturbed mind about the pall masks. "The original ones go to the Matoran's makers and friends. It is the least I can offer. Stand here."

Pohatu joined Onewa on a bare tile. Onewa exerted some of his strength, once again in a subtle way Pohatu could not hope to detect. Down they went, sliding gently along a short passage to the level below the morgue.

The apothecary was well lit by soft white glow stones embedded as tiles in the ceiling. It was as large as the morgue, but with smooth, uneven walls and even bright lighting.

"You polished the features of a natural cave," Pohatu said, touching the wall after stepping off the tile lift. Though he wondered, Pohatu didn't ask what the strange diagrams were. Cinnabar lines and circles of staggering complexity tattooed every flat service along the walls, and even on parts of the ceiling. Circles within circles rippling out to encompass smaller rings and squares all crisscrossed with lines and triangles amidst a background of sand-thin dots with numbers and beguiling protractors that screamed secret geometric significance—

-he averted his eyes and turned away! Shaking his head, he forced it all out of his mind before it broke something! _Complex stuff like that,_ no _thank you! I'd rather go back to the canister and its crazy dreams!_

Onewa allowed himself a wide smile. Well, every infant had to start somewhere. Pohatu confessed to not know how to read, yet. That would be a good first step before attempting physiobionic geometry used in mapping biological modeling schematics.

It used to scare him to death as well, long, long ago. He lied that he wasn't smart enough to learn. Then he became responsible for repairing and recreating others. He learned. Onewa glanced at all the redprints covering the chamber. He mastered.

"Correct," Onewa said aloud.

"Tell me, how did you move the tile? I need to know how to leave on my own, assuming you plan to ever let me go," Pohatu said, half-serious. He glanced at the disturbing red writing again. _This is starting to get creepier, not that it already_ wasn't! _Statues of himself, Dead bodies in the basement, hidden floor tiles, deep caverns covered in sinister designs no sane being would ever paint on a wall. In blood red coloring. Don't tell me you don't get where I'm coming from,_ Mind-reader. _It's a joke to you either way, isn't it?_

"No, you may leave once we have had lunch and seen to your knee." Onewa opened a hand. "The crystal, please."

 _"_ _Examinations", let's not forget. You're going to do something terrible to me. I know it._ He reluctantly removed the energy crystal from his suva and tossed it over.

Onua took the crystal and went to a series of unnatural formations along the wall shaped like half-cylinders or columns. There was a slight bowl set into the top of each. The Turaga placed the crystal in one such bowl. Another column rested about three feet above the lower one. Pohatu watched with fascination as Onewa used his power to dislodge the upper column, as it was indeed a full cylinder set partially into the wall, so that it smashed the crystal with a crack. "I use this to mix medicines," Onewa explained. He lifted the pestle press back into place and scraped the crystal shards into a bowl. He then proceeded to a cluster of clay urns set into honeycomb depressions in the rock. He unstopped the lid to one and scraped several objects into the bowl.

"A nutritious meal," Onewa said, "is the cornerstone of good health. You become what you eat, Toa of Stone." He sat the salad down on a stone booth and gestured for Pohatu to take a seat. "It is also the foundation of how I can use my power in ways you don't understand yet."

Pohatu blinked and looked down at one of the objects Onewa had taken from the urn.

 _The lesson begins._ "What does this have to do with it? Everything," Onewa said between bites. They both took turns partaking of the salad. Onewa used it as an object lesson. "You see these nuts? They are composed of a specific kind of mineral that, once broken down in the stomach, is absorbed by the blood and transfers to feed the heart. Eat enough, and your heart will not grow weary from long treks without water or rest."

"Mineral, you say. What is it called?" Pohatu took a bite. He didn't like the oily smell, but the nut itself was pleasantly tangy and crunchable.

Onewa waved a hand holding an energy crystal, leaving a thin trail of lime smoke as the power seeped into the air. "Names change island by island, or even Koro to Koro. Forget specifics for now. What is important for a master of stone is to memorize its feel. You can do that by touch alone."

"But this is a plant, not a rock," Pohatu protested. He waited. Onewa said nothing and continued to eat, watching him intently. At last Pohatu realized the Turaga didn't intend to answer. Sighing, he got to using his head. The Toa of Stone rolled one of the nut in his palms, studying it, contemplating it, and trying not to let Onewa read what a stupid waste of time he thought this was. Then it clicked. "Wait, I can tell something. I can feel it. But I cannot control it, not as I would rock."

"You are not trying in the right way—no, don't crush it," Onewa ordered, raising a finger to forestall what Pohatu had just thought of doing.

"Then how do I control it?"

"Break it, separate it. Undo the bindings the plant used. Do not use your fingers."

"How then? Step on it? Headbutt it?"

Onewa fought off a grin. "Your mind." He tapped his head.

Pohatu tried, imagining what he wanted the seed in his palm to do. To his surprise and delight he watched the seed disintegrate into a fine black grain. He tossed it up, and then watched the grains clatter all around him, despite his order for them to go catapulting into his waiting mouth. He closed it in disappointment. "I don't understand. I can feel it, but not control it like other stone?"

"Wait until it reaches powder form, then it should work better. It was quite close that time. I am impressed. You are indeed a natural at this," Onewa said. "Learn the art of _precise_ control. That will take practice. Do not feel ashamed to have failed on your first or even one hundred and first try. It took me many years to learn on my own. With my help and your gifted abilities it shouldn't take so long. Tell me, do you understand _why_ you were able to do what you did?"

"Well, I understand that the trees eat the minerals, the flakes of stone in the earth, and do things to them, bind them you say. I guess I've already started learning," Pohatu said with a smile to cheer himself up.

"Excellent. But you fail to understand how that affects your healing. Come, we're done here," Onewa said, having finished what he intended to eat.

Pohatu stuffed the rest of the crystals and nuts into his mouth, chewed fast and followed Onewa to a table of polished grey stone. He sat down on it as ordered and extended his injured leg.

"You see, Pohatu, as a master of Stone, you are a master of the body. The softer tissues are formed of certain clays, the marrow of the finest of protodermis, the muscle wires and sinew of corded acid and steel, our nerves of copper and gold, and our three layers of armor the most refined mixture of countless minerals." He began to massage Pohatu's knee.

To Pohatu's amazement, it gave before the Turaga's fingers like clay.

"Chalk, salt, chalcedony, diamond, clay, limestone and grandstone, these are all parts of your element, save clay, which you share equally with Earth, among others. Let your power flow through them. Fighting them is what comes naturally, but that is looking at it all the wrong way." Onewa pointed at the redprints. "These are to help me in healing and rebuilding the Matoran and rahi, even myself. Follow me. The leg is fine, by the way, though you will need to keep from running."

"You mentioned my Mask is a… a _Kanokama?"_

Onewa exhaled a sigh. If there was one thing he reserved _no_ patience for these days… _"Kanohi—Kakama," thought_ Onewa, imprinting it into Pohatu's mind. There, let him try and get it wrong now!

"The Kanohi Kakama, Great Mask of Speed," Pohatu spouted off, as if he'd known that first thing on waking up. "I can't wait until my leg heals to try it out."

"You must. Or the wait will be longer."

Onewa led Pohatu around a bend in the room that he'd not noticed before, stopping before another door. Onewa unsealed it and led Pohatu through.

The interior was covered in more redprints than the previous chamber. Pieces of armor of every color and description lay scattered throughout on work tables and stations. Hooks hung from the ceiling holding buckets, and one side of the room widened to accommodate a sizable pool of water. There were pieces of Matoran everywhere, mostly limbs, but not a few skulls lay mounted on several free-standing shelf pillars.

"You see, Pohatu," Onewa said, taking a Matoran arm and holding it up for him to inspect. "We are _all_ made of stone. Po-Matoran are natural carvers and sculptors. They feel the stone beneath their feet same as you and I do. But we also feel the connection the stone and its many facets have with us. By learning to manipulate, we can improve ourselves, help each other grow or heal so that we are better than we were before.

"So much potential, Pohatu, is in our craft, and also great responsibility. We sculpt sinew anew. We design hardier flesh and form stronger armor. Ta-Matoran are celebrated mask-makers. But we of Po-Koro, we are the masons of blood." Onewa placed the arm back to its place.

"Do you see now, Toa of Stone? It is your Duty to learn the art of healing. Ga-Matoran, and a Toa of Water, may heal us in their own way, but they cannot recreate. You will become the greatest surgeon, a physician who can always improve others with your work."

"Now, wait," Pohatu said, throwing up his hands. "I understand this all wasn't what it was starting to—ok, _always_ —looked like to me. But, see here, I'm not a surgeon or blood-mason or whatever. I'm a boulder-kicking sort of Bionicle. And I think, you know, that my place is to hurt, you see, not heal. I came here because of… because… because of…"

"Makuta," Onewa said, nodding slowly. "You came to free us of Makuta's power."

"Right. I don't know anything about it yet. Could you talk about that? It's what I'm here for. The rest of this, I don't really want to bother, no offense. It's not who I am."

"Tell me, will you add another body to the morgue above?"

Pohatu blinked a few times, tumbling the repeated question in the hopes of discovering some trick answer or hidden meaning. People sought lies in all the wrong places. In truth, it was always in themselves. "Uh, no, I know you're not a monster anymore, Turaga. You have a wonderful duty here. And I'm sure all he Matoran are right to carve statues for you at every square, but"—

-"will you watch them die?"

This time Pohatu's anger fell, like an avalanche. His face darkened and he squatted to Onewa's level. "Listen, I said I appreciate your work now, but what are you trying to tell me? Speak straight so I can understand the first time. That's fair, eh?"

Onewa was silent for a moment. "You're right. I'm sorry for not being concise."

Pohatu nodded. "Alright."

" _Beware, Toa of_ Rocks _, what thinking like one will bring about."_ Onewa's voice boomed inside Pohatu's head.

Pohatu found himself staring at a Matoran lying on a pier by the cliff-bottom docks. A crate had fallen and crushed him into the seastone pier. Friends had just finished moving the crate. It left red smears behind it. Blood seeped out from her midsection. The eyes of the assembled Matoran lit up with hope as they saw Pohatu. They shouted, pointed, pleaded for their promised, Destined Hero to save their friend. But Pohatu could only look down at the horrific, crushed victim and shake his head. _What do I do? I can't fix this. Where is Turaga Onewa?_

 _"_ _In the Council Chamber,"_ someone shouted.

 _"_ _Nokama won't make it in time. Please, do something! Save her! Save her!"_

 _"_ _HELPME!"_ the Matoran who was crushed now screamed, eyes flashing with pain. "Help. It's getting d-dar...k. T-aga."

She did not die at once. Everyone watched her thrash and scream for three long minutes. He watched that whole time, and could do nothing but clinch his fists. For some reason, he was gripping a staff… but it didn't matter. What mattered was the Matoran's suffering. What was he to do? They pleaded for his help to stop it, but the only thing he could think of was pick up a nearby bolder, and smash harder than the crate had managed to, thus ending her pain. Forever. _No! I can't do_ that _to her. She's not some bug under foot in Onewa's house!_

Curtains of shadow fell atop Pohatu, plunging everything in night. His eyes adjusted to behold the horror of the morgue: a small, deformed body, her face hidden by a funerary mask. It leered at him. She had not died with a smile. If she could decide, she wouldn't be smiling now.

He heard rustling and looked up. He found himself lying on his back. Someone was putting a pall mask over his own face… the mask snapped into place, and…

…"What, what was that for," Pohatu mumbled. He was back in the Apothecary. He was sitting in a cross-legged position with the Turaga sitting opposite him.

"You wanted me to get my point across. You got it," Onewa said with an indifferent shrug.

"There was no need to create something so, so… fantastic," Pohatu accused. He didn't feel vindicated. Then he remembered that one weird moment where he was gripping a staff. His eyes darted by instinct to what Onewa held in his hand. He felt a knife of pure shame stab him in the center of his chest. "Oh no." He covered his face with a hand.

"Did you learn something from my memory?"

"Turaga, I didn't realize."

"That it had already happened to me? Not right away. But if you understand why I am adamant on this, don't mention it more. It is far from my worst moment." Onewa looked down. There were many "worse" moments to choose from.

"Wait, I know this must have hurt you too," Pohatu said. "Let me at least apologize for making you share something so terrible. I can say I know now what it feels like."

"No need," Onewa said, shrugging again. "I have worse memories, many worse. My hope is I won't have to share too many of the same _experiences_ with you."

Pohatu nodded, eyes softening. "Please, teach me what I must do."

"That, I will do as best I can," Onewa said, clapping Pohatu by both shoulders, "with my mistakes. I see you understand? I added the vision of you having a pall mask fitted on, for that is what could happen if you ever fight alone. You must learn to heal others, and then maybe yourself."

"Are the chances of failure against this _Makuta,_ that high," Pohatu asked.

Onewa's hands reached up to touch Pohatu's mask. "Now that you know your Duty, it is time to show you the Destiny…"

The apothecary vanished in a white mist.

An island within a vast ocean appeared far below. Pohatu could not see his own body. He was not there, though he felt like he was falling, fast.

Onewa's disembodied voice spoke clear around him. "After the spell was cast that put the Great Spirit to sleep, Makuta sought to enslave us." The clouds darkened with building rainwater. There were flashes of thunder, and far below a shadow began to track across the island as the storm covered the sun.

"We escaped that calamity, however," Onewa said, sounding breathless, "we only exchanged one trap for another." A creature, orange and black, dashed past Pohatu in a blur. Others followed. The winged insects swarmed toward the shadowed island. "Makuta holds no physical shape. He is a threat that walks from one blackened soul to the next, searching for those willing to forsake Mata Nui for their own salvation. The rahi were most susceptible, being but beasts that feed on such instinct, and having no Virtue warding their simple souls. Those that flew by were Nui-Rama, and they swarmed us when we reached the island."

Blinking, Pohatu found himself on the island itself. He looked around to find himself standing on a magnificent plaza of stone. A giant masked face rose up ahead. "Foolishly, we thought that if we banded together and waited faithfully, we would remain safe of his influence. We fought the Cursed Rahi of Makuta for almost five hundred long years. And then came a great victory. We went to the Great Temple to celebrate."

A black thing, long and tapered at both ends like some kind of terrible spike, pierced the clouds above and fell spinning toward the plaza like an arrow.

"But Makuta, failing to conquer us through despair and mad rahi, hurled a shard of his vile essence, a shard of his dead world, onto our homeland." The black shard struck the colossal mask and pierced deep into its rock skull. Cracks formed. A quarter of the face crumbled into the deep ravine that encircled the plaza.

The mask's eyes went from lifeless stone to a smoldering crimson. The green moss adorning the statue turned brown and began to fall away. The earth shook until the mountains began to calve like glaciers. The storm broke overhead as if on command. Thunderbolts sought out Matoran as if turned into serpents of light. Even the trees shook and lashed at the fleeing villagers as they came within reach of their boughs.

Something began to crawl out from the temple mouth. He heard a chorus of hissing voices. Pohatu was turned away from it.

"From that time, the Great War waged from one day to the next." Rehua and the dead face of Bara Magna wheeled overhead as the day and night faded into one another. "Before we knew it, a thousand years had passed. And still no hope or sign of change."

With a crash, Pohatu found himself looking at a silver canister washing onto a sandy beach. He stood in a seaside grotto of orange stone. It had an opened top that let sunlight filter down to shine on the cylinder. Waves rushed through the two broad mouths of the grotto to give the canister one last push to shore.

It hissed, and with a burst of steam and released pressure the lid screwed off and fell to the foaming waterline. Pohatu saw himself spilled out upon the waves, broken and lifeless, his amber eyes all but gone out. He began to advance quickly on the image of his body as he followed Onewa's vision. "Then, three weeks ago, when we were watching the shore for corsairs or the Black Island, our hope was rewarded."

The image of Pohatu's rescue faded with Onewa turning around to look at him, saying, "You must not fail, Toa of Stone. There are five more Toa. And there are more Kanohi Masks for you. They have been sealed within the center of the island all this time, waiting for you. There you will find the oracle that foretold us of your coming, and your Destiny, which is this: awaken the Great Spirit, and"—

-the image faded. Pohatu's imagination was returned to the apothecary. He and Onewa sat cross-legged upon the sand and paint-flecked floor. The Turaga was looking up, conversing with one of the house guards.

"…was spotted just hours ago by anglers, Noble Turaga! It can't be more than five out from shore!"

"It's _never_ been so close," Onewa rasped in shock, eyes radiating dismay. "Alert Po-Koro! Prepare to lift the fortress, don't let anyone go back to the docks. _No_ one is allowed out to sea." Onewa stood up, and so did Pohatu.

"No," the Turaga snapped. The Toa found his body obeying the words against his own tacit consent. "You're not well, or ready."

"What in Mata Nui's name is wrong," Pohatu demanded.

Onewa did not answer.

Hewkii, the guard, did over his shoulder as he dashed off to fulfill his orders. "Destral! The Black Island's been spotted off shore!"

"Destral?" Pohatu asked Onewa.

"A great fragment of Ahitaahi Poi," Onewa said, still sounding out of breath. "When Makuta attacked Mata Nui, he broke his own world and cast it upon Moana Poi. Destral is the greatest piece, it's from there Makuta hurled his dark fragment onto Mata Nui—wait!" he held out a hand as Pohatu hopped to his feet. "Don't make me force you again, Pohatu!"

Without even thinking, Pohatu ran. Onewa tried to tackle him. His fingers caught only a blurring afterimage as the Toa of Stone summoned Speed and raced out of the room in a rush of air. Onewa tracked his progress, seeing through the Toa's mind how he jumped all the way up to the morgue, flying past Hewkii as he climbed up the ladder, and in three breaths hurtled out into the thoroughfare.

 _No, fool. Your leg!_ He called, watching as Pohatu wove his way up the azalea-light stairwell, leaving confused and terrified Matoran in his wake. Onewa felt Pohatu experience a sudden burst of pain in his knee, at the exact moment predicted.

With a gasp, Pohatu crested the last step of the stair and fell, sprawling out onto the rock. He picked himself up on his elbows, hissing as throbbing agony raced up his right leg. Ringing filled his ears, and someone blew a horn from behind him.

Then his eyes fell toward the horizon. Cresting over the top, like a series of black sails, or maybe waves, was a great shape. It tracked to the left, moving eastward. At first Pohatu suspected it was nothing but a little storm pushed along by the sea winds. But then he felt a sense of dread, a bleakness that he knew could not be natural, fly in on the breeze.

 _It's moving too fast, too,_ he reasoned, watching Destral progress. A green and red fog rose up about it like steam. By the time Onewa reached him where he lay propped up against a boulder, the roaming Black Island had passed around a promontory in the south and vanished.

Onewa looked down at Pohatu. " _Now_ you don't have time to waste," he chided. He sat down and began to work on the Toa's knee, despite that he was still panting for breath after having run after Pohatu as fast as he could without stopping. "The other six Toa: you _must_ find them, understand? And you must work with them. No matter what gets in the way," Onewa said in a slow, deliberate voice.

Pohatu nodded. "I promise. I'll find them, but I do not know the way. There is a great deal of land out there to search."

"You have a common destination, Mt. Ihu," Onewa said. "It shouldn't be a long trip for you, one who wears the Kakama. Reach Ko-Koro. It lies just outside one of the three gates to the Great Temple, Kini-Nui. Turaga Nuju or his aide Matoro will unlock the way."

"And Destral? What do we do about it?"

Onewa worked in silence for a few minutes. Then he sat up and looked at Pohatu. "Leave Destral to our prayers."


	7. Trickster of the Wind

Impatience burned the life-air from Lewa's lungs. His mind raced back to the beginning in a desperate bid to escape his worst nightmare, boredom.

Awakening from the the Ever-sleep, he fought free of the dark-prison tube and tumble-fell into salt-sting water, piecemeal. _Why?_ Who put him _in a swamp?_ _Why_ was he woken up in the first place? He hadn't enjoyed the sleep. Nasty terror-dreams chewed on him and ripped him up. Perhaps they hadn't pretend-been, seeing how his legs and arms were all separated! And his face was naked, to top it all! Woe-poor was he.

Even his treasure-loved axe stood angle-buried into a thick-big root. Smaller stringed-roots had, over the course of seven-long days, grown-clutched at him. He fought away from their tickle-touch feelers and sank-deepened into the mud, his face half-buried. He spat at the mud during in-high tides, hating the taste of salt and muckiness. The stench of the hate-smelling place spun-whirled his mind to bad place-ideas.

 _I must-got to un-mudstuck myself. I can't wait-stay anymore or I'll die of boredom! There is nothing to do!_

He wriggled. He sank a little deeper. He managed to somehow yank himself up by his flexible torso. Flexing it _hurt_. "Aghgrg"—he screamed, and the saltwater spilled into his mouth. He choked and spat on the horrible mud and salt-drink. It was slimy-bad. Heave-panting, he tried to prop himself up on the side of the tree. It was slick. He slid back down toward the silt-stained water. _No-no-no-no, ah, not the mud-bath, please, good tree, nice tree, nice slide-moss. No, no… NO!—_

 _-_ Splash.

He slid in again. This time, he was state-worse than before; his torso-trunk screamed. He screamed. But then he got tired of doing that. It didn't heal-mend the pain.

"Anyone? Any Bio-being here? Birds? Hey, bird-beasts out there, heart-care to flap-lift me out of here? I'll guard-sit your nestlings!"

A few noises, most of them confused, answered Lewa's pleas, but not one bird showed any sign of interest.

 _Hmm,_ Lewa puzzled. _Could-chance I'm not offering the best sweat-deal?_

 _No, not right-true. There's something to the translation-way._ If he still had fists to pound, pound them he would. _Ooh, yes, I catch-think it. I have to music-sing!_ He listened, picking out each different kind of bird-song from the noise-racket.

It was not very fun picking out all the weird note-styles. If he wasn't stuck in a painful position that robbed him of anything better to enjoy, Lewa wouldn't have managed to last five seconds. To his credit, though, he did concentrate for twenty-odd seconds.

 _…_ _and done! Interpretation is easy._ "Coooh… Ooo. Ahuuh!" he started up. _Not so hard is this dialect-call. Easy on the voice, easiest choice._

He heard birds returning his call. His spirits perked up. He exchanged with them several more lines, learning more song-words as he went. "Cooh-Ooh! Ah!"

In response to his request, one of the birds appeared above him. It was red and white armored. Its thrumming bar wings vibrated at its sides. "Baarh-whoo?" it chirped, turning its head sideways, eyes flashing from blue to white.

 _Yes, nice friend-bird!_

The bird snapped to attention, listening-rapt as thousands of croaking voices rose in a scratch-voiced choir. Lewa heard a distant splash and swishing. He scanned the surrounding area.

Lewa was trapped in a circular bay walled by bright green trees that looked to be more root than bole and branch. He could not pull himself out because solid ground rose a good bio above him, and the layers of roots clinging to the sides of the earth were slick, that is to say, assuming he had hands with which to grab.

A promontory of mud and broad, blade-leafed plants stretched out to all but wall off Lewa's bay. He took special notice of the plants as something batted them aside in its approach. Everything else went quiet all around. The bird flew off, its wings humming.

 _Wait, I'm still sink-trapped!_ "Aouhou!" he called.

The bird perched atop a high bower and settled down, ready to watch what happened next.

A tickle ran up Lewa's back. _Uh, I think I'm being watched._

Two orange lights glittered with hunger from between the ferns. Lewa squinted with one eye, the other one being submerged. He could just make out something big and teal blending in with the greens and aquamarines of the promontory.

 _Huh, I wonder what it wants?_ He swallowed. _It must have heard my bird-calls. Did it sound like prey-speak to it?_ He swallowed again as the thing slipped through its camouflage and merged into the water with nary a ripple-break.

Lewa found the idea of escape laughable. But, Lewa had no intention of becoming food.

"Eehhhh," Lewa creaked, popping up from the water. He widened-glowed his eyes through the mud sliding down his face. He threw himself in the direction of the menace. "Ooooahahaoh…Sickness, suffering! It hurts me, it hurts! _"_ He didn't need to play-act, merely channel the pain in his torso. He sloshed side-to-side through the unclean water like a worm. "Aagh. Oohhh, Aiiiiee…"

The monster-menace stopped dead. It watched with concern as Lewa wriggled toward it, producing his horrible sick-cries. _Yeah, bet you don't usually get this reaction, eh, monster-lizard?_

The Tarakava, for that was indeed its race, drew its two fists up to its face in a warding posture. Prey usually did not rush into its reach of their own will, not unless so diseased they sought for the Tarakava's fists to end their suffering. But some were good actors, it knew. It watched, studying the worm-thing that it perceived Lewa to be.

"Oohau—ooh…"

Halfway to the Tarakava, Lewa found himself reaching deeper water. _Not plan-good._

If he fell and failed to rise, he would breathless-die without the need for the beast to even get close to him. He tried to balance on his hips, and felt several things inside tear—"Oo!"—his voice turned into a pained squeak.

The predator-menace slid backwards until its tail bumped against the peninsula-arm.

Lewa started to lose his balance, forcing the damaged sinew and muscle to flex-balance lest he topple into the water. Pain attacked.

"AGH!OUMATANUIBEINGSBOTAPIRAKAAGh—BORNRAPUNGABAITOUGHAGH!" he bobbled like a log in the rapids, unable to keep total balance. He fell back-first into the water. His curse stream turned into a gurgling shriek.

Without looking back, the teal Tarakava whipped around and sped over the land and then back into the water on the other side. It didn't stop until Lewa's screams were far, far out of ear reach.

And Lewa didn't stop screaming. He was in far too much shriek-ugly pain to stay quiet! Somehow, the desperation brought about a change. He exploded through the air in a powerful somersault, like a tossed throw-stick. He crashed amidst the muscular roots of the trees, close to his axe, though that did him no good. He writhed in pain, which multiplied is excruciation. Without meaning to, his wriggling sent him sliding down the algae-coated branches— _plop—_ and back into the water he went…

After a long-think time, having nothing else to do but make-form hate-curses, Lewa realized something. If he tried _really_ hard, he could breath-take, despite being submerged and his head half-buried in sediment-goop. This delighted him. He wasn't going to sink-drown bottom-up. He tried to kick his legs in delight... But how had he better-breathed? He test-fiddled breathing in different ways. He inhaled and exhaled, inhaled, exhaled.

For about forty seconds.

 _This is dull-boring._ He figured out how to blow into the water and create babble-popping, and so he did that for a few blink-seconds. That got dull-boring, too. He was Lewa-Something. He deserved better than dying like a stuck bog-log!

Taking in the deepest breath imaginable, Lewa released it all in as strong a blast as he could manage. With a rush, he hurtled out of the shallows and tumbled end-over-end into the air. He landed amidst a vine-net.

More time did pass by. In it, Lewa contemplated pain. What was the meaning of pain? What was its point? What had he learned? Nothing. There was no point to any of it. There was nothing to learn. Why couldn't he have left well enough alone? He'd been the one to get into the mess. Sure, the only thing to do in the canister was sleep-dream, but hadn't scream-hurt.

All he wanted now was to go _back_ into the canister-prison and sleep forever. He lost track of time. Haze rolled in, a fog that blurred the trees and dark leaves into a canopy-smear. He swayed back and forth, sometimes turning, his vision warping until it seemed a great wind was bending the trees low. He heard buzzing and croaking, the creaking net-vines, and the squabble-talk of the birds.

At one point, he knew not when or where, and didn't more-care, the bird came back. It perched right beside his precious slash-axe.

"Pooh-kooOH," the bird asked, tilting its head to the side, its beak pointed at the axe.

"Mine-belong, no peck-touch," Lewa murmured to the bird. Some part of him yet unconquered by the supreme-bore of pain acknowledged he said this in the bird-speak.

"Koo, koo, koo," the bird chided. It hopped up and kicked the axe with one leg, knocking it into the water. It looked back up at Lewa and opened its beak in a smile. "Kah!" it made a pecking motion at him.

"Mean-spirit." Lewa's absolute boredom began to recede, as his mind attuned outrage. There was something to do now, though it happy-pleased him not. "Mine. Shoo-away."

"Kah! Kah! Kah!" the bird cried, throwing its head back and letting loose with its signal.

"Kah? Kah! Kah," issued many other replies.

Lewa a flock of the birds light upon the tree canopy. More and more arrived until they changed the color from green to red and white. They started up a horrible racket-chorus.

The translation-change was simple: "die-food." He was juicy near-dead metal-meat. It was time to eat. Time to treat themselves to a Lewa in the trees…

"kaw-auhoo," the first bird said, kicking a black ball-stone with its foot. It got stuck on a rot hump.

Lewa watched, having little better entertainment before silent-dying.

The bird unleashed a tirade at the orb-rock, gesturing with its wing-bars in the air wildly, as if to give a lecture on why it should have not gotten stuck by the root and gone plopping into the water like the bird wanted. Its compatriots in the trees joined in the chatter-ruckus.

"Hoo…" the bird drew back one feather bar like a club… and swung low. "Wha!"

The angle was all point-wrong, but what did they care for what Lewa knew? He didn't care. The black thing had been stuck-fastened to his chest-armor in the sleep-cylinder. He would be glad to see the black-leach-stone go into the water.

As Lewa knew, the angle was wrong. The blow hurled the black orb, the assembler, straight up into the air. The various birds flapped their wings in a crescendo uproar. Their cries grew quieter as the assembler awoke to its purpose. A white light ran along its surface and flashed like fire. It reached its climax, and then fell back toward Lewa. Each second it lost speed. By the time it reached Lewa, the assembler barely moved at all. It halted in mid-air, two hand-spans from his chest, and then began to rise.

Lewa gasped as some unfelt force lifted him up from the vines, and carried him aloft toward the water. He looked down at the bay, and shuddered. _This is how I end-fall. I wish that bird hadn't made this black marble angry…_ he shut his eyes.

Green objects, Lewa's limbs, surfaced from the bottom of the bay, dripping mud and clinging weeds. Traces of white ran along the limbs, and the debris fell away, trailing steam with a _hisss._

Opening his eyes to see what was taking so long, all the ball-rock had to do was drop him, Lewa gasped in surprise! _My limbs!_ He looked in wonder as they drew up around him and began to reattach.

The assembler worked for as long as it could, battling to reconstitute what was torn, what had healed over without proper care, and what had begun to rot. Lewa's time within the canister had been terrible for his body. A Toa of Air without circulating winds was doomed to dry-rot. Had it not been for the nourishing waters outside his canister, he might have not regained the strength to heal. That it was a sea-side swamp, with constant breezes blowing, proved Mata Nui's course for Lewa's Destiny had not yet been skewed far off its course.

Its work completed. The Assembler used the last of the strength vested in it to settle Lewa onto dry ground. With a final splash, it pulled his mask, gauntlet and axe up from the waters. The mask settled onto Lewa's head, and the axe into its proper slot. Unable to do more, the assembler settled into a nest of roots at the base of a tree. Its pale fires died.

A rush of heavenly force, like a great wind at his back, hurled Lewa off the moist earth. And then he dangled there, floating in the air without touching a thing! Then, he crash-fell, slamming face-first into the dirt and finger roots. Groaning, Lewa picked himself up and rubbed the back of his head, watching the black orb-stone. "Sorry I bad-judged you," he said, bowing in respect. "I promise to take you with me, wherever it is that I'm journey-going."

"Going? Yes, I feel like I've got to go somewhere special-destined. It's important." He lost himself in the reflective black surface of the assembling stone. Memories rose unbidden onto its face, warped and distorted. They were memories of dream-terrors. He blinked and banish-rid them from his sight and thought. "Whatever." He shrugged and bent down to refit his gauntlet.

"Let me see, this works so-so. There we are. Hmm, nice fit." He wriggled the two prominent fingers, perfect for climbing and grip-pulling on things. He eyed the trees and their occupants.

"Coo. Coo. Coo." The first bird was standing not far away, wing-bars up in a combative posture. It was backing up slowly.

"Hello." Lewa cheer-smiled, tapping his shoulder with his axe. He ambled over.

"Hoo-hoo!" the bird jabbed at the air with its wings in a threatening manner, though the effort seemed half-hearted to Lewa. It kept backing up, and was running out of room to do so.

"Watch it there," Lewa said, stretching out his gauntleted hand. Too late, he watched the bird topple backward into the water.

 _"_ _SAAH!"_ the bird didn't even manage to scream before a three-pronged jaw snap-shut around it. The Tarakava sank beneath the water again, its eye aglow with dinner-delight, not a ripple made.

"Came back to check on me, eh," Lewa whispered under his breath, and cursed. He went to the assembly-stone and stuck-fixed it to his chest, turning his back on the waterline. It fit on as it had been when he first woke up in the sleep-canister-cage. Danger-breeze whispered warning over his shoulder.

He spun, feeling air scream through his forearm and up the shaft of his axe—

-hissing, one of the Tarakava's arms speared the ground at Lewa's feet, blasting up craters of dirt and pieces of wood. The other arm batted aside Lewa's swing. Air shouted as the blows met. Both were knocked backward, surprised and dazed by the sudden blast-gale.

The swamp Tarakava's eyes twinkled with madness. It had been _tricked!_ Fooled, and therefore been made a fool. This Trickster would _die_ , as the Great Makuta had first ordered. His sovereign island was close; it would crest this part of the island by end of day. The time was now! It struck again, and again! Rocks soared; roots split and flew in splinters. The Trickster would be offering-food!

"Haha!" Lewa felt the back-wind; sailing over the head of the lizard-menace's fists, he landed at its right side, axe arm drawn far back behind him. He felt the air channel through the weapon as through a flute. _It sings sweet kill-music!_ He shouted again, and swung. His gust-axe struck with such speed his own very-eyes perceived nothing but a green flash and _bark-squall._

The Tarakava slammed into the trees, sending shiver-shocks through their roots and stems. Leaves fell. The birds sang-screamed their terror. They'd been expecting the Tarakava to make snack-food of the hated green being.

 _That's not enough to end-kill you, I sure-know,_ Lewa thought as he commanded the back-wind. It was the Mask, he was sure. It did this, but there was something else. He smiled as he spread his arms to his sides. The breeze rose with them. _Yes, the wind, the air is with me._

The swamp Tarakava rose with serpentine grace and swish-danced side to side, jaws opening to pour drool and red armor-remnants of the bird. But then, the wind came as Lewa call-posed. Up he went, his armor-toes lifting off. Then he rose as if caught up by unseen vine-nets to the canopy-top.

The Tarakava looked on in wonder and frustration, hissing all the while.

Back in the trees, the birds scattered as Lewa arrived at their level, fluttering off in silent-sneak retreat. Lewa continued to hover in place, palms out, knees locked together, as if he balance-posed atop a thin-weak limb. Below him, the Tarakava lashed out a final time against the ground, and then dove back into its dominion.

"No-good luck next meeting-time," Lewa called. He looked around him. "Ah, here we go." He crooked a finger at a thick vine. The wind surrounded and pulled the captured rope-vine to his waiting gauntlet. His fingers curled about it, and he let the wind rush-push him off.

He swung, the leaves and trees flashed past as he sped along, overtaking the birds. He released the vine and snag-clutched another, and continue his swing, crying his triumphant bird-song as he went. "Caught you, bird-friends," he called, and cocked back his axe to swing. "Kah…"

The birds shrieked, throwing up their wings in warding, or perhaps placating gestures, eyes shining with panic.

"Kah," Lewa shouted with exaggerated glee, swinging his axe. The blast of wind caught them in its tide and sent them tumbling off into the green-shrouded jungle.

Laughing, Lewa sped along from vine-to-vine. A new predator in the trees was about!

 _Where-next should I high-swing,_ he mused, rubbing his Mask's broad chin with one finger. The trees fell beneath him as he somersaulted into the sky upon the stream of the back-wind. _With this Fly-Mask, I'm not trapped anymore!_ "Whoo-hoo!" he shouted at the top of his voice. The wind scrambled to catch his words, and then carried them far and wide in every direction. It shook Lewa's own ears until his words echo-rattled his skull.

All great-heights have their down-falls, but before Lewa's leap met its decline, he spotted a great expanse of green forest rising up even above his own fly-spot. Higher still the great slopes rose, graying and blackening until they ended at a roiling black and grey cloud. Lightning coil-crawled through its innards. Lewa felt the earth, the island, even the very air, rumbling around him. A blood-red flash did he spy, and down-spilled a distant river of crimson along the mountain's slope-sides. Black specks arrived, drifting along a hot, death-smelling breeze.

Lewa pinched his nose. _Disgusting. Rot-stink down there, rot-sting in the air, rot-stink every-where!_ He felt the rumble again. "Volcano-top ahead! Better not go that bad-way!" He began to descend-drift for the steam-shrouded treetops.

For the brief fall, Lewa's speed matched the arriving ash. He drifted with it to the jungle, quiet-contemplating what next he should do, or where to go. He could not remember what he was supposed to do on waking, or even if "Lewa" was his real name.

 _It feels right, thought-certain,_ he insist-told himself. _I know it does. I decided it back in the bore-mud. Lewa it is. What about the fly-Mask? Do you have a name? What about us? What are we together? What are we here-because?_ He touched the Mask's smooth, point-nose. _Am I… the King of the Jungle?_

 _Yes!_ A voice seemed to whisper on the wind.

 _There we are then!_

He sprang from his tumbling ball, grabbed a tree branch and swung off deeper into his paradise, the air whistling at his sides. He wasn't convict-convinced about being King, or even his name, but one thing he was certain of, doubt-beyond: the Wind was his friend.

Lewa made sure to keep his path away-go _from_ the blast-mountain. The very idea of all that choking ash disgusted him. As he went, he noticed large flocks of birds and insects rising up along the coastline, now grown-small from distance. The land was huge-spread. To the south and east there was nothing but green so far as Lewa could see. He was happy that it was so. Everything green was jungle, and so right-belonged to him.

 _A Jungle-king takes well-care of his home-realm. I can't blow-move the fire-mountain back there, but I can sure wind-direct the ash!_

Quick as darts, his eyes check-spied a limb to land-grab. He snagged it with his two long fingers and flipped up and onto the limb, using the weight of his gust-axe to keep balance in a squat-crouch while the limb shook.

Standing up, he strode out to the tip-end of the limb, which angle-jutted up above the tree-crown and over-looked all the jungle. Lewa raised his gust-axe over his head and took in a deep breath. He exhaled the power of his air. He had just-how learned to do this a few hour-times ago. The gust-axe gained a thick coating of radiant-shine like the fresh new leaf-shoots at his armor-feet.

Whoosh-sweeps of air flew out ahead of him, racing to his call before the king-commandment that would blow-sweep the ashes from his jungle-domain, forever! _All it need-does is a forever-change in the wind-streams. Easy done, just a quick-order and some power to stern-force it…_ His gust-axe began to rise into the air as it fed upon his power, flash-leaves of escape-jumping might swirl-spinning around its shaft and head.

 _Hmm…_ Lewa pondered for a moment, observing that his control was not total-perfect. But that was fine. He hadn't ever focused like this before. It even surprised him he could do-manage it at all.

Something yellow flashed off to Lewa's right.

He put the axe down and leapt over to the adjacent tree, somersaulting the distance. He landed and snatched the item in question. "Fruit! Shiny yellow, nice-ripe," he said, and opened his mouth to take a bite. He watched the ash falling, off mountain-toward. _Ash-food strengthens the jungle-roots. If I away-change its fall, would that help the jungle? For a little while, but it's not forever-good, I think._ He finished the fruit, peel-skin and all, wiped his gauntlet and launched off in a new direction, not caring wherever he went, so long as it wasn't straight-direct at the fire-mountain. There were other high-grounds. He looked at a promising spine of green-clad peaks. _Yes indeed, time to get to a high-spot and see what I see._

The wind dye-changed to black. Alarmed, Lewa lost balance and flipped upside down. Levitation required concentration to balance right, internal peace. He had great wells of internal peace, but the sudden change upset him. Bad-fell had the wind become of a sudden. _How terrible, it's like it is fill-brimming with angry voices!_

Still upside down, Lewa folded his arms and contemplated the change, and also the flip-flopped view of the world. _Nothing wrong-changed behind me. I'm fly-speeding into the wind._ He realized at once, and nodded in approval. _Ahead lays the problem-source._ He flipped back around and let a great wind catch his back. _Time to hurry-fly and find out about this black-dye._

Cold became the wind. Chillness sapped at the air. Lewa squinted at a black dot racing toward him. He snatched it as it sped-sailed into his face. Opening his hand, Lewa look-found a black seed, it had a leaf-sail for spinning. Lewa checked the surrounding air, noticing plenty of the dark fliers now, all spin-falling for the tree-tops.

 _Not normal-kind,_ he thought. _Neither is this chill-wind. Brrr._ He rubbed his arms and began to let his Levitation slip, spinning slowly around a central-balance beneath his feet. _If it's not normal kind, then it must be extra-ordinary kind._ He stabbed the air with a finger. He glanced at the fast approaching green mountains. He would reach the tops of them quick-soon, and unravel-learn everything about the wind-change and maybe-too the dark-seeds.

A sensation of heart-burning entered him, and he felt a sick anger. The tree-tops rushed into view. Shaking his head, Lewa looked down at his hand, noticing the seed had sprouted and punch-wormed shoots into his palm! They green-blackened and glowed. _Bad,_ he thought, snatching the dark-seed and tearing it out.

 _"_ _Bah! Soon, windblown fool. My roots reach deeper than the skin of your palm!"_

"Huh?" Lewa scratched his head, looking around for who could have spoken. "Well, If I didn't spy-see anyone, but I _heard_ them… it must be you, eh?" he looked at the seed caught between his thumb and forefinger. It began to quest its shoot tendrils into his hollow-tube fingers. "Nope," Lewa said, raising his hand over his head and sharp-calling the wind. A squall of fast, angry-thin air drove between his fingers, ripping the dark-seed in-half.

Shaking his free-hand of the rootlings, Lewa returned his attention-senses on the mountains. In a few minute-times he reached a stand of broad, open trees. He'd notice-accounted other kinds of trees. They cover-grew needles all over them. Not fun-swell for speed-swinging or climbing. Catching a near-grown vine, he sailed up into the mountain-forests, careful to avoid a stray tree-pine.

Fresh-winds flooded the trees and attack-burned the leaves. Then they chill-bit them. _Is it supposed to be chill or hot? I can't tell. Something's not right-natural, precisely so!_ He hopped into the air, feeling a growing sense of dread. It felt like the dark-seed remained somehow, or a trace of it swirl-remained in the air. It was black-wind, after all, filled with menace darkness-borne from wherever the seeds sprang-came, he guessed, seeing as they had both appeared together.

From the top-head of the mountain he leapt, his sense of unease intensifying as he climb-rose. "There!" he pointed with his axe, eyes widening.

A black island with many shadow-mountains crept along some mile-lengths beyond the eastern-end of the island. Black-speckles flew from it like mold-pollen. And there were evil, laughing winds and gasses about the dark island that shrouded detail-features.

Confused anger filled Lewa. How _dare_ this interloper-island seed-sow into his jungle-realm without his permission? He raised his gust-axe and summoned a wrathful-wind, a fury-roar. It caught up the clouds, the anger-wind did, in its haste to obey Lewa-king. The Light from Lewa's up-risen axe challenged the above-sun, an emerald ray that speared the clouds.

It was destroy-ready, the fury-wind whispered. "Drive it off-down. I want it to sink," Lewa said.

"HAAAAH!" He drove-swung his gust-axe with both arms—the storm-swing released a howling-gale at the black island. The wrathful-gale above hasten-followed Lewa's axe-wind, swirling out toward the black isle, picking up fresh swoop-streams of wind and cloud as it went.

"Try-now and seed-fall _my_ Jungle-kingdom!" Lewa shouted, watching his storm-work.

Tiredness pounce-surprised Lewa. He swoon-warbled and fell back to the mountain.

Blackness.

When Lewa came to his senses, he was drifting a finger-length above a ledge overlooking a dark-place, a ravine-delve in the land. He groaned and hopped up. "How long was I out-for?" he looked around. The sky was dark-clouded, and lightning flash-banged.

"Better find shelter-quick. Bad-storm," he murmured.

Setting out at a glide with a finger to spare-give between him and the earth, Lewa explored the ravine-delve first. It had lots of holes, but none were good hide-spots. _Spiders._ Lewa hissed in revulsion-scorn at the webs covering the holes. "Spiders!" He summoned a slash-tear, scourging-lashing every web-hole he past.

Another thing Lewa could not abide in his Jungle-realm was _spiders._ He loathed and detested, spurned and abhorred them, despised and reviled the very _concept-notion_ of their residence.

But the bad-storm boomed a warning to Lewa that it was time to hurry-find a storm-shelter if he didn't want a rain-soaking. There was a bad quality to the storm, something unnatural. Anger clouded it, fury controlled it. It was like his own, but wicked-bent on devastation. He also heard tale on the wind of someone else's laughter.

So, he gave up on his good-work of destroying the web-holes. He found a narrow pass through a cleft in the ravine-wall. He slipped through, hacking and air-cutting choking brush out of his way.

At the other end, he found himself facing several confusing path-routes. They all seemed to head toward a deep-valley or thick wood. And there were webs everywhere.

"Wait," Lewa said, blinking twice. "Hey, you there!" he waved his free-hand at a tall, black-armored Bionicle-friend standing off near one path. That path-route seemed to wind its way toward a big pit or hole. Perhaps this being was an underground-fellow?

The being looked in surprise at Lewa, and then waved a clawed hand and started over, green eyes shining a deeper, richer shade than Lewa's new-shoot colored eyes. _Always good to color-check the eyes. This one is hard to read. Is he help-friendly or mean?_ He decided to test it out by asking.

"Hello, do you know of any storm-shelter. We're going to need it, Bio-friend," Lewa said, coming to a halt before the other big-being. An impatient gust swept the fallen leaves between their feet-armor, forming a dancing rattle-veil before skipping off to other parts of the intersection.

"Indeed, Brother," the being said. He gestured with one hand toward one of the paths. "I just came up to check my surroundings, and found this storm overhead. Hurry, it's going to be bad, and I have no love for standing out in the rain."

"Yes-yes, now there's a wise-being," Lewa extended his fist.

The other being looked down at it in questioning, raising one clawed finger at it in not a little trepidation. His eyes flickered with misgiving.

"You fist-bump it," Lewa explained, gesturing with his lowered-axe in a no-threat-expressive way.

The fellow-being's mouth opened for a second and he nodded, eyes flickering with understanding. He formed a fist and slammed it into Lewa's waiting knuckles, hurl-knocking Lewa back a few stagger-steps from the force-power.

"Whoa, there," Lewa said, hovering back over to the strong-stranger. "You're amazing, Strong-stranger, but gotta be careful-delicate with us gentle-beings. I could have snap-split at the wrist like a twig-sapling from that blow!"

"Indeed? I'll have to watch myself," the stranger-being said, bowing in apology.

The sky flashed several times in anger. The winds fell, armed with rain.

"Hurry," Lewa shouted, pointing with his axe at the various routes. "Show the path-way!"

The stranger-being said something, but it got snatched by the storm. Instead, he started marching down the path, Lewa in tow.

Lewa worry-frowned as he noticed their descending-pace. The further down they trail-walked, the closer the walls hemmed them in. "Bad-place for a flood to wash-down," he commented, turning to look at his being-friend.

Without warning the trail ended at a tapered ledge. Looking back to find his foot stepping over empty space, Lewa assumed Levitation, halting his fall. He slid back-away and peered over at the drop-off. Below, pale greenish gasses wafted up to offer him a stinging smell.

"Pleasant place, friend," Lewa said dryly. "I don't think we can stay-wait here for the storm to pass."

Overhead, lightning threatened them, and the rains arrived in driving curtains.

Displeased, Lewa turned to confront his fellow-being. "Is this a bad-joke?"

The black armored figure didn't respond, but his eyes now glowed scarlet with mirth.

"Answer…"

Lewa felt himself slip-sliding into darkness. He fought to remain awake. He saw rain driving against the black-armored trickster, but he couldn't feel the pelting stuff on his own armor-skin. He felt his sense of balance betray-leave him. Lewa fell backward over the ledge, already fighting fresh waves of blackness.

"H-help," he cry-moaned, reach-stretching for his being-fellow.

The black armored figure brushed Lewa's hand aside with a contemptuous wave.

Down Lewa fell-spun, senseless-dark, into the coiling mists.


	8. Through Banished Memories

Takua the Ta-Matoran rubbed his head with his left hand. His other hand tapped the wall to keep his bearings in the tunnel. Keeping one's bearings was harder in the dark. But, for Takua, it might not have mattered. He didn't know where he was going.

So much had happened, so much, and yet only shreds of it all remained. He knew who had done this to him. He'd been the one to propose it. He wanted this. Perhaps he still did, but Takua didn't know anymore. He started to breathe hard. Where were his friends? Did he have no one to Unify with, no one to rescue him if he was in trouble?

 _I'm in trouble now._ He whimpered, looking around for some sign of light in this old tunnel. Why was he down here? Did danger lie behind him, or did his footsteps lure him ever closer to it? Should it matter? Did he have a purpose to come through this way?

What was his Duty, his Destiny? Every Matoran knew something about that from Naming Day onwards. He'd hoped shredding memories out of his mind would make things better. Instead, the tearing left his mind mangled. How insane he must have been then.

 _Takua, where are you?_

It was a whispering voice. So quiet it was, Takua almost never caught the words. But somehow he always managed to, even if he wasn't paying attention on purpose. That was one more reason for the tapping against the wall while he walked, the noise overcame the voice. Who was it? What did it want with him? He refused to answer. He'd been told not to answer. The voice was strongest in the dark, or when he prepared to go to sleep. Then again, sometimes he heard it in broad day.

 _Takua. I know you are there. Answer me, Takua; answer me…_ it trailed off to wait for his response.

"N-now," Takua said aloud over the whispering. "Let's see. Yeah, let's see. Where again do I come from? Ta-Koro. I think I know the way there from Mangai. I've lived on Mangai for a while. But then why don't I know where I am? Is this some other place? Oh, right, right. I-I came here to, no wait, I went _there_ to see about forgetting. Yes, that's it. Well, I forgot, and now I'm traveling again. So I must be on my way back to Ta-Koro!" he nodded to himself, sure it was true. He felt the throbbing in his chest armor subside a little.

Pieces of his fragmented life drifted about the darkness of his mind like embers, bringing illumination to themselves and naught else. Takua stretched out his hand into his thoughts and stirred the fragments around, trying to piece together a coherent narrative. He had to understand his life, his history. He recalled enough to know that he didn't want _all_ of his memories gone! Or did he? He couldn't say without remembering!

Takua quickened his pace, seeing light at the end of the tunnel. "Mata Nui be praised! Light, that's good. Next time I'll remember to bring a light stone with me."

 _Why do you not answer me?_

"Ah, um," Takua hummed for a bit. "Yes, I'm a something, a— _NO!"_

He shook himself. _Right, forgot, I can't go there. What did I used to do?_

Once, Takua knew he was a chronicler, a keeper of stories and histories and such. He had been responsible for some other important tasks set by Turaga Vakama to build character and confidence. Why had he lost confidence in himself?

 _Are my words so soft that you cannot hear?_

"There was a war," Takua said, snatching and explaining the fragment out loud as if reading a script puzzle. A chorus of screams and battle-cries filled the air. He sighed with contentment. Now, here was finally something to drown out all other noises.

He halted. Buzzing clouds of Nui-Rama swept up from the floor. They were pale, transparent, ghosts forged of sudden memory. In a moment they reached the dark ceiling and kept going until they were distant specks. In that darkness Takua almost saw in the distance a cliff high above lit with torches. The cliff was more like a wall of a castle, with decorative arches and windows. They frowned upon Takua like hostile eyes. Disks, glowing cherry red or hot orange, flashed from the narrow openings!

Takua ducked, tucking his head in and threw his powerful arms over his face. Something screamed behind him, causing Takua to hop up in surprise. The disks flashed by and all around him, but none touched him, for they too were no hotter than a nightmare of fire.

He looked behind him to see a figure charging up toward him, waving a disk in his three fingers, eyes radiating terror. A name flew from his lips before he could stop himself, "Nuhrii!"

A grey and maroon Tuatara was chasing the other Ta-Matoran, its face obscured by a Kanohi Rau. It's hungry eyes flickered through the eyeholes. The mask glowed a sick yellow like the color of sulfur. It was infected; the Rahi would not stop until Nuhrii, and now Takua, were in pieces within its smelting belly.

A steep hillside of bare red rock settled below Takua's feet like a fine mist. He began to run on this surface, in mind retracing the memory and giving him the distinct sensation of laboring uphill.

Fissures covered the hillside, forcing Takua and Nuhrii to weave and hop over them, slowing their progress.

Nuhrii hurled the disk back at the Tuatara during a midair leap over a large opening. The disk, for all its strength, dashed the ground beside the Rahi, blasting half-melted rock into the air. It hurt not the fiery Rahi. Takua reached into his suva, searching for disks forged in Ga or Ko-Koro, but those were all used up. Only home-made disks remained, disks like the one Nuhrii threw.

 _It was a wasted throw, they're all wasted throws on fire-mountain rahi!_ Takua shouted for Nuhrii to run. But Nuhrii instead ordered Takua to throw him another disk.

"We can beat it together," Nuhrii shouted. "We have to! There's no choice, now, Takua!"

Rooted by fear, Takua looked at the Tuatara as it reared back, readying to belch flaming acid upon its future dinner. "No, let's split up, Nuhrii," Takua suggested, starting to run for the creature's left. He waved his hands and shouted at it in an attempt to get the monster to pause in its attack.

It did. The Tuatara glanced his way, narrow eye swiveling to take him in. It shifted position to throw fire on him instead of Nuhrii.

Then, something horrible happened. Takua turned from the memory, wishing it forgotten.

 _Has your mind gone dull from wont of use? Are you sick?_

Immediately, Takua plunged back into the memory. He screamed. Flaming acid sprayed toward him, a cloud of rancid and slow death. He ran _toward_ the Tuatara and slid on his chest armor, diving beneath the horrible spray. It melted a sizzling puddle behind him. Three white fumes wafted into the crimson evening sky of Ta-Wahi.

"Help me," Nuhrii cried.

Takua looked up and felt his Ta-Matoran blood run cold. Nuhrii's foot had gotten snagged in a crevice. He tugged and pulled until Takua winced and expected the limb to tear out of its socket. Even for all of his friend's efforts, the foot wouldn't come unstuck.

By luck, a vent leading from the rumbling fires of Mt. Mangai released a burst of flames, sending a geyser of gas, rock and molten rock almost a dozen bios into the air. The Tuatara snapped its body around with reptilian grace, mouth going open to spray at the geyser out of reflex.

A heartbeat came and went.

"Hurry, it's distracted," Nuhrii pleaded.

Takua took a step, reaching out his hand. "Nuhrii!"

A second heartbeat ended.

The Tuatara returned its attention on the two Matoran. Its eyes blazed with irritation for the hunt to just be over with so dinner could commence!

"I think Jaller distracted it with a long-flying disk," Takua murmured, trying to recall how the creature had gotten distracted again. The hillside, the Rahi and Nuhrii vanished. Takua watched the outstretched ghost hand dissolve inches from his own fingers. There had been wild terror in his eyes back then, but now his eyes pulsated to the rhythm of another feeling.

He recalled the old days with Nuhrii, when the other Matoran took him in after Naming Day. Jaller had not understood what the famous hunter saw in Takua. Takua still remembered how the two had argued about whether Takua should be allowed to fight with their team. But the war had gotten desperate.

"They _had_ to bring me along. Everyone had to go. The Tikokerea was under attack. Makuta had too many forces."

He hung his head and continued to the tunnel exit. In his head, he threw the sparks of that terrible memory into the depths. _Stay there. Don't come back up._ Just as he exited the tunnel and came out onto a soot-covered landing, he heard something. He stopped to listen, fearful of he knew not what. Images of a strange, rat-like thing flashed through his mind. Didn't stone rats dwell in some of these tunnels? They were nasty things. But there was also the nameless, constant dread that followed him. Sometimes he could feel it watching, hungry, and constantly waiting for him to fall asleep and lower his guard. Was it there now? Was that the tingle he now felt?

It had been following him ever since he… no, no thinking of that… ever since a while, now. Even the Turaga hadn't believed him at first, not Vakama at any rate. Turaga Onewa had after the extraction. Takua wanted to believe forgetting everything would get rid of the dread, since it started around… _back then._

Takua kept walking and tried to keep his ears alert. Sometimes the dread tried to get close to him. When that happened, he _always, always_ ran for it. It might just be a figment of his imagination. It might be dangerous enough to hurt him. Something inside him screamed that it could do more than just harm.

 _Do not run from me. I am always with you, Takua. You cannot hide in dark places._

Takua ignored the voice. It wasn't hurting or threatening him. No, he needed to concentrate. A cold pain like freezing fire tickled the back of his head. He glanced behind him in the darkness. Something moved. He squinted, peering into the deepening gloom. The something moved closer.

It was the dread. "No!" Takua screamed. He turned back toward the exit and fled, running headlong until he raced out of the tunnel and straight over the landing, which was the level intersection between two switch-backing cliff trails that zigzagged up the mountainside. Still screaming, Takua plunged headlong through open air and into a cluster of treetops.

Somehow, he managed to grab hold of a narrow limb. It hurt, but his arms were up to the task and didn't pull from their sockets. Like a Hakomaki, he worked toward the tree trunk and then shimmied down all the way to its base. The ash trees of Mangai were tall. Upon landing, Takua stared back up and felt instant dizziness. "That had to be almost three hundred feet high up." He let out a heavy breath and sat down to rest.

Disturbed at his close call, and at the same time kind of thrilled as well, Takua let himself remain there. The Dread wouldn't dare show itself in broad daylight, even on a cloudy day like this one. He deserved, needed, a rest.

After some time, Takua pulled himself up and ambled into the forest. It looked kind of familiar. Perhaps if he didn't think about it, his feet would remember the right path for him. _That would be convenient,_ he reasoned hopefully. He felt sudden dizziness come on him again, and this time he saw black dots. His movements slagged and he toppled over. Panting, he lay on his side, trying to pull himself up to a sitting position, and failing.

Then it occurred to Takua that he must not have eaten in some time since leaving Po-Koro.

The Ta-Matoran never got a chance to snatch at fresh pieces in his head to solve the riddle. Darkness swooped in to drape its silent wings about his face, blindfolding him in shadow.

Within the confines of nothingness, he found he was still not alone.

 _Takua,_ the voice began again.

 _I wanted to erase it so you wouldn't speak to me. I don't remember anything, so you can't, you aren't—you don't have any reason to speak to me!_

 _I am always here with you. You cannot shut me out._

 _Stopspeakingtome!_

Then, even the darkness was consumed. This time, it was by a hot, blinding light.


	9. City of Ghosts

_Standing in the spare room, Pohatu admired the perfect square cuts in the stone. They were impressive, strong and enduring. Where was this in Po-Koro? Or was he even dreaming of the village? He thought how nice it would be to explore the rest of the island._

 _A square piece of floor gave way right in front of him! Surprised, Pohatu hopped a step back, raising his gauntlets into a fighting position that was as instinctive as breathing. A Matoran crawled from the dark hole, eyes burning green and then red. He smiled and held out his hand. Pohatu reached out to help the strange-eyed Matoran. Right before their hands met, the Po-Matoran's mask turned a sick translucent orange. Patches of darkness seeped through its interior like clouds passing over a sky at sunset._

 _Horrified at the sight of the evil mask, Pohatu snatched his hand away. The Matoran's hand released a black flame. The flame turned into a dagger. Sensing danger, Pohatu achieved Speed and flipped over the Matoran as he threw the dagger of darkness at him! Instead of continuing the assault, the Matoran gave Pohatu a fearful look. His mask lost its corruption and returned to its original state, though the eyes continued to shift color. The Matoran retreated, running to the other end of the room. A doorway appeared for him. Other Po-Matoran walked about beyond it. The traitorous Matoran mingled into the silent crowd and was lost to Pohatu._

 _A fearsome hissing sound issued from the hole. Pohatu whirled to it. The dream distorted. Next thing he knew, there were sixteen pillars of light on either side of him. One by one nine of them winked out, leaving stone bins in their place. From the bins came a sound like the ocean boiling. He expected steam to come out. Instead, wriggling darkness splashed forth and fell to the floor. The blackness turned into things that reminded Pohatu of the dust slugs outside the hospital where he lodged. Only these black things were segmented by nesting armor plates, and their faces were filled with malice._

 _Revulsion filled him. Pohatu readied to pummel the building around him and bring it down. Crushing the creatures sounded like a good strategy right now. In fact, it felt just!_

 _"Wake up! Get out of the city,"_ a voice shouted into his ears.

Daybreak lay far behind Uranga Rehua in its trek across the washed-out skies over Po-Koro by the time Pohatu awoke. He started up, drowsiness sliding off his mind like the water in which he floated. The liquid was a salt bath, very good for sore and weak joints.

"Wha… I could have sworn. Oh, that was a dream. Another terrible dream. I thought I was over those," he muttered, shaking his head. When would the strangeness end? Couldn't he get on with life? Perhaps he was stricken—traumatized—by his long sojourn in the canister.

Standing to his feet, Pohatu climbed out of the basin bed. There were several others arranged in a floral pattern in the room. When he went to sleep the other soaking beds were filled with injured Matoran. Not a one remained and the water had been drained from each. He stepped out onto the center of the room, letting water dribble onto the maroon flower mosaic. He admired it for a moment, trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of its sharp, geometric style. The dream had really unnerved him.

Once he was dried and in control of his wits, Pohatu stepped out of the hospice in search of Onewa. He didn't know why. There had been a strange inkling the day before that he aught to get up make a break for it while Onewa wasn't around. The urge hadn't been strong enough to overpower the sleep-inducing tea one Matoran had offered him. He sank back down and had slept since then. Perhaps it was for the best. His joints felt great now! _I bet I can run a thousand kios._

The first thing he noticed upon leaving the building was the sound. Where was the sound? He'd thought this, in an ironic twist, the first time he left the hospice with Onewa during his tour of the Koro. How quiet things had been, how subdued its people. Things weren't just quiet and subdued now. He listened. Nothing reached him but the constant sea breeze. Not one sound of living things, not even the distant murmur of whispers.

Evening shadows crept in opposition to the sun across the houses and thoroughfares he could see from his position. The hospice was built into the canyon walls of Po-Koro and granted a view outmatched only by the hidden watch towers. He missed little. Pohatu walked down to the canyon floor and spun a slow circle, warily eyeing his surroundings. The crunch of his feet on the sand-dusted rock filled his ears.

Stillness possessed Po-Koro. Emptiness filled the buildings and streets.

"Alright, who forgot to invite me to the party," he asked aloud. He hoped for an answer. None came. A sinking feeling rose as he accepted how unlikely it was that everyone was just having a large, peaceful gathering down in the inner parts of the Koro.

If it was a battle or looming threat, surely they'd have warned him about it, right? "Would they just leave me sleeping up there like a piece of trash? No, no. That doesn't make sense."

So, Pohatu resumed his mission: find Onewa.

As he strode down the center of the lifeless Koro, Pohatu kept his eyes and ears peeled. Abandoned the city was not. Watchfulness stared at the back of his head, always. The black eyes of windows and openings in the canyon walls or buildings peered down at him. Now and then, he thought he caught a pale Po-Matoran figure peek out at him from the corner of his vision, or something darting along an alleyway the moment he turned is head from it.

By the time he reached the main thoroughfare and the Po-Suva, Pohatu had confirmed that these sightings weren't total imagination. He _was_ being watched. There _were_ villagers sneaking about. The image of the sinister Po-Matoran from his nightmare materialized in a window and raised his dagger. Pohatu banished the ghoulish figment of his imagination.

"Could give myself a heart attack like this," Pohatu muttered. He was disgusted at his own cold chills. It made him feel the dream had more significance than he should lend it. _Wait. Onewa can use that Kowmeow or whatever. Is this a joke on his part?_ No. _Something's up._

Again, he felt the urge to… leave. They didn't want him here. They didn't need him—or didn't _think_ they needed him. Not quite the same thing, in Pohatu's estimation. Not that he had an audience to argue with about that point. They were avoiding him now. Why?

"Do you think I'm going to hurt you," he shouted, letting his voice roll and boom. The silence ate his words and arrested their progress. He heard his questions die before reaching the end of the main thoroughfare.

He waited, arms folded. After a while he grew tired of waiting and threw up his hands. "Alright, I can take a hint. You don't _want_ me here. Or you're all as crazy as your Elder," he added under his breath.

A blue Ga-Matoran scurried out from the Po-Suva, waving big Matoran arms at him. Their blue armor and shape reminded him how all the Matoran resembled crabs in his eyes. He wondered if that was intentional, or just the best shape for menial labor. It was sure amazing what they could do for such tiny folk. He smiled at the Matoran and waved back.

"Nice to see a friendly face in this forsaken place," Pohatu said, jogging over to meet the newcomer.

The Ga-Matoran skidded to a halt before him and bowed. "Great Toa Pohatu," she said, slightly out of breath. "It is an honor to _finally_ meet you!"

"Same here. This place is hard on beings seeking good company," Pohatu said with a chuckle. "You know my name, so, what's yours?"

"My sincere apologies! I forgot to—my name is Hali, Mighty Toa." She bowed again.

Pohatu waved a gauntleted hand dismissively. "Bah, titles are just flattery. Call me Pohatu. I'm ashamed to say I've not earned much right to Might since I woke up. Most of the time I've been lying in those salt baths."

"Oh, they're very good for you," Hali said. "Don't feel bad about recovering from your ordeal in that canister. It sounded like an awful place to spend so many ages!"

"You have no idea," Pohatu agreed, nodding. He shook his head. "Wait, nevermind. Don't let me tell you. It wasn't fun. In fact, I had this dream… right. Forget it. So, what brings you to Ghost-Koro?"

"Ghost-Koro…? Ah." Hali looked around and nodded. "Their paranoid tactics can be unnerving. Can't say I don't agree with you."

"But," Pohatu said, sensing more to her statement.

"But," Hali hedged.

She fidgeted with her fingers, a habit that seemed shared by _all_ Matoran he'd seen.

"You see, there's supposed to be a swarm of Nui-Rama spotted to the northeast. Maybe we _should_ empathize with them. They've got great hearing. And they make their nests in caves in rocks."

Pohatu looked around. "Guess this canyon would suit them. Huh, that explains a bit."

"Right. Things aren't usually on so high alert. Something else has alarmed Turaga Onewa. That's not easy to do, as I'm sure you've noticed," Hali said.

"No. He seems hard to crack, that Onewa," Pohatu said. He rubbed the front of his mask. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know where the Noble Turaga is, would you? Or should I try his house first?"

"There are other places he might be. Though I've heard from Hewkii that he's gone somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?"

Hali glanced away. "Not to sound demeaning of you, Great Toa, but I am but an _outsider_ Ga-Matoran who's only been coming here for trading and fighting for the past five hundred years or so. 'That Onewa' is in a place of Tribal Secrecy. Only the important, self-righteous I-get-shiny-black-armor-you-don't-hahas get to know where… oh my."

She clamped her mouth shut and covered it. "I am so very sorry, really! Noble Nokama warns me. I have a terrible mouth. And I anger easily. They say I could poison a Kane-Ra Bull with words alone. That I can depress a Tarakava if left alone with it. Oh my." She shut her mouth again.

Pohatu tried to suppress his laughter. But then he just couldn't take it anymore, watching the Matoran's eyes widen and glance about for a place to run to and hide. He burst into a fight of merriment. And he didn't stop, not until his lungs started aching. Sighing at the end, he bent down to the Matoran's level. "I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you, Hali. It made me feel better. And you know what, you're right!"

"Oh Mata Nui knows I'm sorry, Great Poha—uh, I am?" Hali blinked and tilted her head in bafflement.

"Yes," Pohatu said in a more stern voice, resolute. "If these Po-Matoran are going to treat even their Toa with this kind of _grave_ disrespect, what then should they expect of me? I for one am offended and frankly see no reason to stay here. True thing, Hali, I've been sneaking supplies into my suva. I'm sprinting out of this ghost Koro. Onewa told me to anyway, so it's not like I'm avoiding anything by remaining. In fact, I've been dealing with this gut instinct. I feel like I should be finding these other Toa. Destral's out there, sailing somewhere in the ghastly moonlight, and all that." Pohatu waved in the direction of the sea. "It's not going anywhere with me soaking in saltwater."

"I guess not," Hali said.

"Yep, done that already in the canister. Didn't solve a thing."

"But you know, Pohatu, it sounds like you're being guided by the Great Spirit to find the other Toa," Hali said, eyes lighting up.

"Maybe." Pohatu looked away. He shrugged and looked back. "Well, I feel awkward standing in a city almost alone. You take care, Hali of Ga-Koro. I hope to see your village sometime." He gave her a polite bow and turned to go.

"A-actually," Hali said, raising a hand. "I'm on my way back to Ga-Wahi now. I've no reason to stay, see, and the crowds around here aren't exactly visitor-friendly even on the best of days." She forced a laugh, sounding nervous. "Would you mind, maybe, escorting me through the Desert? I mean, I could probably talk a Nui-Jaga to death like that one time I sang a Muaka to sleep. But there's no way of telling when a Makikona might decide it wants an interactive lunch, so… will you?"

"Will I sink a Muaka to sleep?" Pohatu blinked. He hadn't quite followed her.

"Mighty Toa, I am in need of your protection. Please escort me to Ga-Wahi, and I will see to it you're praised or rewarded or whatever it is your Stone Heart desires." Hali bowed. "Please. I wasn't being sarcastic! I swear!" she held up her hands to forestall his anger.

"Err, I guess." Pohatu glanced around. Now _he_ was the nervous one looking for somewhere to hide. This Ga-Matoran looked ten times more friendly than the Po-Matoran. But she had precocious trouble-seeker all over her so bad she stank of it. _Well, Pohatu. You complained to yourself about villagers who won't talk to you. Now a snippy one that won't shut up wants to go on an adventure with you._

He shrugged, smiled and finally nodded to her. "Why not, Hali? I mean, we _are_ both trying to leave. Might as well go together, eh? You can tell me what to look out for, and I will protect you from it. Sounds fair to me."

"Yes it does. Thank you," Hali said, bowing again. "I was legitimately scared of encountering a Makikona out there. Or a Nui-Jaga. Jump out of the sand those scorpions do, lashing with those tails so fast." She wiped her brow.

 _This is going to end with me being chased by one of these Maki-jaga things, isn't it?_ He shrugged in his head. _Beats saltwater baths in a town full creepy mute-toran._

With a gesture for her to follow, Pohatu started to walk. He paused and turned back to Hali. "After you, if you would? Onewa never showed me the way _out_ of this place."

"Oh, sure. Follow me. We'd better take the desert way. As you know, the Wandering Island was off shore not long ago. And the Nui-Rama swarm is northwest of us. The southern route is doubtless safer, even if it takes us to the Makikona hunting grounds."

"Great to hear. Lead the way. I'm right behind you," Pohatu said, falling in behind the little Matoran. _Yes. One-hundred percent. Totally._ "What does Makikona mean?"

"Stone Dragon-ape," Hali said.

"That is hard for me to picture," Pohatu said.

"Since you asked," she supplied, "The pictographic formation of the word Makikona is connotative of Bone-demolishing and unstoppable carnage. The script glyphs for ruthless and intolerant are used as well, in conjunction with madness and foul-temperament. So it's a Dragon-ape of Stone that demolishes bone with a bad temperament that can and will unleash unstoppable carnage. Make sense?" she glanced up at Pohatu.

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Pohatu squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. _I wish it hadn't, for once. What are these things? Makuta's spawn? I'm starting to think nightmares of evil Matoran with shadow dagger magic aren't so bad._

The stillness and watchfulness tracked them as they moved toward the southeastern exit.

It made Pohatu feel as if Onewa wanted him to depart. So strange. At first, the Turaga had refused to let him go on his own time, and now he seemed more than ready to drive him out in as cold a manner possible.

 _What about the training I was supposed to undergo? He kept on about it and now I'm suddenly ready? Something has happened to set that old mad Bionicle off._ Pohatu let out his frustration with a sigh. He kept his misgivings to himself and followed Hali without any more outward complaint.

The mountain of rock comprising Po-Koro sloped downward from its southern end. There, it fell in a sudden plunge and curved into a smooth and broad valley of impressive size. It snaked away westward. The farthest Pohatu could see upon reaching the canyon floor was a side of the valley as it made a sharp curve south.

"Welcome to the Great Canyon," Hali said. "This is the start of it. It goes on for many Kios. The further it goes, the more massive."

"Do we follow it," Pohatu asked.

Hali shook her head. "Not unless we want to go far off course. Let's see, there should be a map at the old guide circle. There used to be one up there." She pointed to the canyon's opposite ridge.

"Used to be?" Pohatu glanced behind him. His senses raced out from his feet, releasing a swell of sand. It was beyond him how to make sense of what he felt through the technique, but his mind seemed to do it anyway, giving him the interpretation of someone creeping up on him from behind... But all he saw were the strewn rocks and cracked boulders that hid the tunnel leading up to the southern gates.

"Uh-huh," Hali said.

The Ga-Matoran led the way up a hidden stair on the other side of the canyon. It cut a steep path through a narrow slid in the rock delved out by the Po-Matoran carvers. Atop the other side of the canyon there stood a broken tower of stone. Hali led the way over to it. The building's remains kept a forlorn watch at the edge southeastern edge of the elevation. Below, the ground fell away for almost fifty feet. Everything from the base of the stone wall to the horizon was sand. It glowed in the late sunlight.

Within the tower, Hali showed Pohatu a raised circle of stone. On it was chiseled a map of Mata Nui in fine detail. Onewa had shown Pohatu similar depictions in Po-Koro, but this one featured various routes marked out in different colors of fluorescent paint. Even by night a traveler could find their road.

"We need to cross the desert and follow this yellow trail," Hali said, pointing at a golden line on the map. "As you can see, Mt. Ihu and the Ko-Wahi Wastes lie northwest. The Island's two horns pointing Southwest and Northeast, we're at the base of the northern horn. Ga-Koro lies opposite of Ko-Koro, so our route needs to go south," Hali said, following the golden line on the map with her finger. "We'll need to cross the Motara River somewhere."

A Po-Matoran walked into the building, a disk held in one hand, ready to throw. "Who goes… oh. Toa Pohatu, and… Hali, is it? I thought you were scorpions."

"Glad you looked before you threw that Kanoka," Pohatu said with a friendly smile. Inside, he felt a tap of recognition. Where had he seen that Matoran's smooth mask before? The dream?

"Ah, yes. I thought I heard noises like Matoran speaking," the Po-Matoran confessed. "But one can't be too careful."

"What are you doing all the way out here, Ahkmou," Hali asked, her voice as cool as groundwater.

"I'm setting out on a trip to Ga-Koro," Ahkmou said. "You know, when I heard the noises I thought those desert Rahi had gotten attracted to the map's glowstone."

"Really? It's not even dark yet," Hali objected.

Pohatu looked from one to the other, ending at Ahkmou.

The Po-Matoran official blinked a couple times, and then realized he was being put into question. He waved both hands as if to wipe the doubts away. "No, really, we have this problem all the time here. It's one reason no one uses this old route station. Most go north or east, but the way is blocked by Nui-Rama. Someone should really do something about it…" he looked askance at Pohatu.

"Alright, fair enough," Hali said, folding her arms. "But, tell us why you were following us?"

"You noticed too," Pohatu asked Hali in surprise.

"Of course I did," Hali said, smiling. "It's P-Koro. Ahkmou, I want to know. What happened in Po-Koro? The village changed all of a sudden. Surely it wasn't because of the Rahi swarm alone."

"One question at a time," Ahkmou said, returning the disk to his suva. He walked over to the map. "You see, Great Toa, I was coming to ask if you might be willing to help us lure the swarms away. You possess the Great Mask of Speed. I think I have a plan to get the swarms somewhere else. And then I lost sight of you when you crossed the valley. See, there's a Makikona footprint not far from here."

"And here we were discussing them earlier," Hali said. She sounded delighted.

"Be careful what you wish for," Ahkmou said. "It's why I was nervous about Rahi being in here. I had to personally go _investigate_ the prints to see if it was still loitering around." Ahkmou wiped his Mask's brow of some clingy dust and sat down, back against the stone map. "I'm not brave enough for that sort of thing. I wish Hewkii were around."

"Right. If you're going to Ga-Koro, I guess you'll want to come along," Pohatu said. He took pity on Ahkmou's clear fright. "Speaking of, did you see where that Makikona thing went?"

Ahkmou waved toward the entrance. "It's probably still wandering around out there somewhere. I lost the tracks when they slipped into the coastal grottos. You were found washed ashore in one—that was because we were actually surveying them for any Makikona nests. I guess another one is due soon."

"Will it follow us if it catches our scent," Hali asked. "I mean, I know it has apparently floored you to follow the tracks of one. If being near them is so bad for you, let's leave."

"I second that notion," Pohatu said. "I don't know if I'm up to fight something like this Makikona and protect two bystanders at one time."

"We have disks," Ahkmou supplied, tapping his suva as he stood up. "With your help, surely nothing is impossible now!" He began to grow quite enthusiastic. "Like the Rama swarms, for instance."

"Back on track," Hali said, tapping the map. "The fastest route I know, seeing that the old Ngaoki trail is destroyed, is to hug the Tiro Canyons region."

"B-but that's where all the _Makikona live_ ," Ahkmou cried in disbelief. "Are you trying to kill us?"

"Well, the other choice is to go out and wait for one of us to step on a Nui-Jaga."

Ahkmou muttered something under his breath. He looked to Pohatu. "Mighty Toa, what do you think? With your Mask, can we get away in time?"

"I hope so," Pohatu said. "Otherwise it sounds like my Destiny is going to be a short one." He meant it as a joke, but found he was the only one chuckling.

Hali looked aghast. "You shouldn't talk that way, Pohatu! Pardon, no offense."

"How can he not take offense, with _you_ speaking that way," Ahkmou chided.

"Oh, enough," Pohatu said. "It's getting late. If we're going to walk in the night, let's be on with it."

Hali and Ahkmou let their argument rest for the time being and filed outside. From there, the Ga-Matoran took the lead. She guided her companions down another hidden passage and out onto the sands. The sun, a golden globe, sank faster with each minute.

They hugged the rock wall that was the outer side of the Great Canyon. To their southeastern side lay the open desert. The stone and sand bathed them in heat.

"So, are you sure we have time to leave this swarm problem alone," Pohatu asked after a little while. "It sounds like a big issue if it caused the Koro to go into hiding."

"Oh, the Nui-Rama swarms can wait for a time. They're a reoccurring problem, you see," Ahkmou explained. "We're used to it in these parts. I even hear Le-Koro has it worse."

"Which begs the question of why you think it can be solved," Hali said.

"Oh it can! We believe only one of the Rahi is infected by a Mask. The others are just searching for cave systems to colonize. The Po-Wahi race of Nui-Rama migrate from cave to cave. As it turns out, Po-Koro is an excellent choice from their perspective. All we really need is to use bait and lure them to a place they will want to settle in for a few seasons."

"Didn't Turaga Onewa condemn anymore of those tactics because they were too dangerous," Hali objected. "Oh, but we have Pohatu's Kakama. He could easily outrun the swarms by himself!"

"Precisely."

"Precisely," Pohatu muttered. _Is protecting all these little Matoran that important? I don't mind, I guess. What about the Black Island? It sounds like that should take priority over migrating Rahi._

"If you had that plan in mind, then why are you going to Ga-Koro, Ahkmou," Hali asked. "Wouldn't Onewa want the Nui-Rama redirected as soon as possible? You're his aide, why are you leaving at a time like this?"

"That's a question I'd like to know," Pohatu agreed. "In fact, where have you _been?_ I didn't see you during my entire time in Po-Koro."

Ahkmou shrugged. "I'm in charge of trades between the Onu Tribe Mines and our own Leve Mine. That takes some going back and forth. I had to run the last stretch back to the Koro with the Nui-Rama right behind me.

"As for leaving again after that bad trip, it's for two reasons. You already know I wanted to talk to you, Noble Pohatu. Well, you were seen leaving with a Ga-Matoran, makes sense to me that I should try for the Ga-Wahi regions. Then the other reason is Wise Onewa has an errand for me to run there. Two birds, one Kanoka. Besides, the village might as well be as frozen as Ko-Koro, now that Turaga Onewa has secluded himself in his lair again."

Pohatu and Hali glanced at each other.

"Lair?" Pohatu raised an eyebrow. "Hewkii was there with us when I first took a tour."

"I mean the _other_ one," Ahkmou said.

"Oh, he probably doesn't know," Hali said. "I don't know much about it either. There's a rumor that he has some kind of mass grave beneath the city!"

"Wait, I've seen his apothecary. That's probably where it came from," Pohatu said, raising a finger.

"But there _are_ rumors," Hali insisted. "There _were_ some offshoots of the Great Mine down there. I hear the Canal of Echoes is still used. Turaga Nokama saved Onewa from a flood during its construction."

"The Canal's still there. The port operates at certain times. But the tunnels are long destroyed," Ahkmou said, waving a hand.

"That's what we're told," Hali said. She had a flicker of curiosity and guile in her eyes. "I know Onewa has a hidden door through which only he can pass. They say it's in his inner chambers. Bodies go in from the apothecary—which I hear is kind of a mad workshop with writing all over the wall!—and then don't come out…"

"A door only he can enter? Then how does anyone know what's inside," Pohatu asked, confused. "I think I smell lies, Ahkmou, Hali."

"No, no! I'm his aide. One time, he even took me down there," Ahkmou insisted. He shook his head. "It was terrible!"

"Then you'd know if all my suspicions are true," Hali said, growing excited. "This is the first time I've caught you admitting this!" She took from her suva a script cube. "Start talking," she ordered.

Ahkmou put a hand over his face. "Ah! I forgot you were a chronicler. Now I _can't_ go back to Po-Koro."

"Oh, you'll be going back," Pohatu said. He found it pleasing in a bad way to see Ahkmou and Hali both shrink back before the tone of his voice. "Later, of course. I suspected he had some secrets still in the dark. If he can do something with his powers, I am sure I can do just as well."

Inside, he confessed this wasn't the whole truth, or at least not yet. _It may take time, but I'm certain I can figure out any trick or device he's set up. It will just take some practice and patience. What am I if not patient?_

"What does he do with the bodies," Hali asked. "I hear the Canal is infested with metal-eating _rats._ Does he… feed them?"

"Uh, no. I mean, I've sworn a solemn oath not to talk about most of it—and he showed me as little as possible, so there's not much to relate—but yes, the bodies go there. Not many. Most are dealt with however the loved ones decide. He just takes charge of those that no one wants interned in some way and buries them down there in a private mortuary, I think. But there's no telling, really. It's so dark."

"Dark," Hali said, scribbling on an unmarked side of the cube with a chisel. "But that's not juicy enough. I need something to terrify Matoran at campfires at night!"

"It also doesn't sound particularly insidious," Pohatu added. "Creepy, sure. And creepy sounds like Onewa."

"Did you know he keeps a _Krana_ down there as a guard?" Ahkmou asked, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed voice.

"What? Not one of those weird things they found in the Mines?" Hali scribbled all the faster.

"How do you keep unwanted scratches on that rock," Pohatu asked, mind derailing as he beheld the marvelous qualities of the stone cube. "I mean, you're barely touching it to make those perfect little circles... how do you prevent fingerprints?"

The look Pohatu received from both Matoran displayed quite well what kind of stupid question they considered this to be. They pretended to hear nothing and kept on talking as if he'd never asked.

"Yes, one of those Krana. It's so terrifying! I thought it would eat my mind," Ahkmou gushed, his whole body trembling. "I'm sorry, sorry. It's just… so—I mean, I'd never expected it to be attached to that spider Technic. It was right at me when I turned to look behind us, and it was so… so squooshy."

"Squishy?"

"Squooshy," Ahkmou repeated. "Big difference, Hali."

 _Ok, magic cubes are commonplace. Don't ask about it. Gotcha, oookay,_ Pohatu thought, feeling ashamed, even though he knew he shouldn't! _I just woke up a month ago. What do they expect me to be, Mata Nui incarnate? Does he incarnate? Where is he? In the waves, in our hearts?_

"…yes there _is_ a difference. I fish in Ga-Koro. Squishy is for flesh-metal. Squooshy is for mud under your feet in the shallows," Ahkmou explained.

"Ah," Hali said, nodding. "Sounds pleasant."

"Sounds disgusting," Pohatu said, shivering. "Mud sounds despicable."

"Well, then have I got bad news for you about some of parts of Mata Nui," Hali giggled.

"Stay on the dry sand and solid rock, Toa of Stone," Ahkmou confided in a whisper. "Dare not let the mud your foot take."

"So alright, the Krana was squooshy," Hali said, chisel awaiting further content. "But, why did you expect it to eat your mind?"

"If you think Noble Onewa is frightening with his powers, you know nothing of what that purple mass of mud-metal can do to you in its presence," Ahkmou said, shivering again. He put a hand on the rock wall and stopped. "It wanted me to Clean. Clean it all," he said in a dull, emotionless voice. He stared out over the desert, unseeing. "It has to be Cleaned…"

Pohatu and Hali glanced at each other for a second time.

Hali put away her cube and chisel. " _Maybe_ this can wait," she suggested with a nervous cough. "You can tell me all about it when you feel up to it."

Ahkmou snapped out of his traumatized reverie, or whatever it was that possessed his thoughts. "Ahem. Now, my point is, it's a Komau, too. A very strong one. There's no telling what Onewa does with it, deep in that dark place. Pohatu should _definitely_ check it out, once we get back."

"Maybe I shouldn't," Pohatu said, tilting his head in thought. "Sounds to me like he has this "Krana" right where I would put it. Somewhere dark and out of sight. It could hurt people. I don't like that cleaning business you went on about, Ahkmou."

"Cleaning? What are you talking about?" Ahkmou folded his arms and gave the Toa and Hali a look of his own.

"Let's keep walking," Hali suggested. "I don't expect you two Po-Bios to agree with me, but _this_ Ga-Matoran wants to be in this hot sand as little as possible. Eww, make that cold sand. The sun's sinking fast."

"Cold?" Pohatu rubbed his arms. "Come to think, it does get rather cold at night outside. Why didn't my salt bath?"

"Heated furnaces," Ahkmou and Hali said at once in long-suffering voices. They hurried on ahead of him, not wanting the "Mighty" Toa to display more levels of, well, exceptional ignorance.

Pohatu huffed and stalked after them. "Come on, that was a good question!"

 _Sniff, sniff._

"Hey, do you guys feel a breeze," Pohatu asked, rubbing his arms again as a chill wind caressed his back.

Hali and Ahkmou turned around and then went as still as statues. They said nothing, just stared up at him.

"Oh, come on! Hali, you were the one to first mention the cold," Pohatu snapped. "Answer me and stop standing there like a pair of imbeciles, or I swear I'll leave you both to reach Ga-Wahi alone."

Hali gathered the courage to point a finger up _over_ Pohatu's head.

"Did something get on my face?" Pohatu rubbed the top of his head.

 _Sniff-sniff._

"There it is again." Pohatu began to turn around, convinced that this was a kind of prank, and he was going to find out what those silly-looking frisbees felt like when they hit his head. _If either of them brain me with one of their Kanoka thingies, so help me, I'll show them what a real Maki..._

He was now facing the opposite direction of the Matoran. There was a big, brown _wall_ of metal right in front of him. It had clearly not been there before. They would have had to walk _through_ it. Their tracks even led right under its sloped bulk. He put a hand to the cool armor and felt fleshmetal beneath it. He looked up. It ended at a very unpleasant head with long ears that would have looked quite silly had he viewed them from any other place, or on any other head. The eyes were glowing green almonds with a smooth end and a tapered end. The nostrils flared.

 _Sniff._ The chill air washed over him, carrying a terrible odor.

And there were lots of teeth in the head. Speaking of, there were lots of sharp things all over it. The arms were massive and were just now lowering to flank him. Each was about as long and thick as Pohatu—all of Pohatu—and ended in thick, clawed fingers. The legs were even more powerful, and had more armor plating on them than Pohatu ever considered even in his remotest fantasy. A tail, similar to what he'd seen on reliefs of scorpion Rahi, hung overhead like a hook against the blackening sky, just above an enormous spinal row of sword-like spikes.

The Makikona crouched so that its head hung a Tio from his mask. It opened its mouth and bellowed. "Whrooa—Whrooa—Whroooa!"

Pohatu attained Speed. Sand sprayed from his vanishing spot, kicked into the eyes of the Makikona by the force of his backward leap. Pohatu saw Hali racing away from the beast. Ahkmou was above, scaling the rock wall so fast he might as well have possessed a Mask of Climbing. He was probably going to be safe…

The Makikona slammed a massive fist into the rock. The wall dissolved into a pulverized cloud.

Quick as lightning, Pohatu scooped Hali up in one arm and started _running._ Everyone wanted to know how fast he could go, well, now they were about to find out! Enjoyment was the furthest thing on his mind, however, as the sand slowed him down.

He couldn't gain enough traction! The Makikona stomped forward, each footstep causing the sand to hop about the Toa's feet. There came a change. He felt the ground grow less important to him, as if there was less and less relation. Before long it felt as if his feet raced along the air itself! Out over the desert he sped.

He glanced backward to see how far they'd gone in a few seconds. The Makikona was receding far behind them.

Then, it made an incredible leap. In an instant the Rahi fell atop them, a flying, living, roaring rockslide! The desert quailed before it, and Pohatu almost got caught by one of its fists. He sailed under the arm at the last second, slid on his side across the sand and went into a crouch. He sprang out of it in a powerful jump of his own. Hali screamed and pointed. He glanced to see the tail stinger impaling the sand right behind them. Up close, it looked more like a sword than stinger.

Pohatu increased Speed. The land around him melted into a blur, and it grew harder to hold onto Hali. She squirmed and shook, feeling less and less solid and more like a slick stone covered in oil. He couldn't even feel her anymore. Pohatu glanced back to see the Makikona barreling after them across the desert, leaving craters in its wake that geysered sand dozens of feet skyward.

All at once the Makikona toppled to the ground, which opened up before it as a sleek, blue and black object emerged from the depths of the sand, its long tail embedded in the Makikona's belly. With wicked twitching, the scimitar-like stinger protruding out the back of the Rahi leaked purplish venom. Before the sand even settled or the momentum bled from its prey, the Nui-Jaga diced its fellow predator into three pieces with its pincers. And it bent down to feast…

Pohatu skidded to a halt, horrified at what had just happened, he refused to keep running across the desert. He recalled Hali's warning about Nui-Jaga spearing prey with their tails so fast. "Mata Nui, I didn't take you seriously enough," he said.

"Wait until it finishes eating," Hali replied, she struggled. "And put me down, please."

The Toa of Stone sat Hali down, and then returned attention on the two Rahi. "Why," Pohatu asked, watching the monstrous scorpion cut neat pieces off its prey, spear them with its tail, and then put them in its mouth. It looked quite sophisticated, and was all the more repulsive for it. "I liked the Makikona a lot better."

"It almost caught us," Hali said.

"At least I could see it coming. That thing out there could have chosen us for dinner," Pohatu reminded.

"Ouch. You're right. Oh, but still don't go. Or the Nui-Jaga will attack us. Once it finishes it'll slip back underground. It won't need to eat again for a while."

"I'm going to _not_ question if you're an expert on them," Pohatu said.

They waited. The Nui-Jaga finished its meal, wiped its mouth with its claws, and then burrowed out of sight.

"Wait, where do you think you're going," Pohatu demanded, watching the Ga-Matoran running _toward_ the remains of the Makikona.

He didn't stop her, though he followed right behind with his senses directed at the sand. _Slim chance of dodging its tail. What could be so important that she'd risk this kind of danger?_

"Wonderful, it left the teeth and tusks intact," Hali muttered. She started rummaging about the remains, taking what she liked and putting it into her suva.

Pohatu felt his concern for Hali suffering from a poison of disbelief. "Hold it, hold it now," Pohatu said, raising his hand to forestall Hali from continuing her work.

Too delighted to stop, Hali continued sorting through the Makikona's leftovers without pause. "Yes, a forceps pincer. Ugh, too heavy." She put down the giant claw and shuffled over to another spot.

"Seems to me that you wanted something like this to happen," Pohatu said, coming to stand right behind Hali.

"Maybe." She didn't look back up at him.

"And if I'd failed to keep you safe as I seem to have failed with poor Ahkmou? What if I had ended up dead as well?"

Hali unleashed a wicked little chuckle and held up a gear to her face. "I would've sold your remains in the 7th Village like I'm going to these prized Makikona parts, for great riches," she said, rubbing the gear with fondness. "The story of how you lured it to its diced fate at the claws of the Nui-Jaga will win me so much recognition and fortune I can't tell which is going to make me richer." She sighed in contentment. "I guess it won't matter."

"It sure won't. Have fun on your journey to Ga-Koro," Pohatu said. He stalked past her on his way to the ruined section of rock wall.

"W-wait! I still need an escort!"

"Ask me later," Pohatu suggested with a furious growl. He attained Kakama. At the wall, he jumped, using the speed to spring up to the top of the elevated land. "Ahkmou!" he shouted. His voice echoed into a series of canyons and bounced off a series of flat-faced rock formations. The last of twilight's shadow loomed around him, and the sulfur glow of distant sunset burned on the horizon behind the rocks. His own voice answered him again and again.

"I'll never forgive myself," Pohatu realized. He explored the hole blasted into the wall by the Makikona's fist. It hadn't struck anywhere near Ahkmou, of course, but his growing anxiety demanded a thorough search. _If only I had grabbed Hali and jumped onto the wall. It wasn't safer to split up. It wasn't safe for him._

From the impact site, Pohatu measured the likely arcs the flying rocks took and followed those that would've veered in the Po-Matoran aide's direction. He saw nothing.

The more he explored, the more his guilt at his misjudgment transmuted into darker feelings. He looked upon the untouched rocks, the old cracks and sand. There was one set of the stone Rahi's footprints at one spot. It led into the canyons below, which wound about the base of the sand sculpted rocks. No sign of struggle or second predator was found.

He followed the tracks of the fallen Makikona. He descended into a trough and skidded down its end into a narrow canyon. At its end stood a hidden monument, a sculpture of a leering Kanohi of unknown shape to Pohatu. Evidence of abandoned buildings stared out at him with black eyes, these were empty windows.

A stillness as great as Po-Koro filled the place, and it had a more final air. There were no Matoran or Rahi, not anymore, hiding behind the walls. At the end of the canyon the tracks stopped, for there was no more sand to imprint upon. A dark cave opened up right below the mask sculpture, as if it were giant mask sculpture's throat. Fetid odors drifted about the entrance of the cave to warn of what became of the now dead predator's former prey.

Disgusted, Pohatu left the abandoned settlement. He didn't know what it had been, and it didn't matter. Thoughts of Matoran with corrupted masks and daggers of black fire drifted into his mind. If Ahkmou had not been wounded or eaten, where then had he gone? _I think it may be best if Hali and I go on alone,_ he decided. _Everything about these Po-Matoran is not what it seems. Tricky and troublesome._

He stepped to the ledge and prepared to hop down into the desert. A familiar tingle halted him mid-crouch. It was Onewa's voice. It lacked the subtle command familiar to the Turaga's words, but the precise way of speech was there. It conveyed urgency, need and pain.

 _"Find the Toa of Ice."_

Even though he knew Onewa couldn't be nearby, Pohatu looked around him. The survey offered nothing. _Turaga, where are you? What do you mean?_

The voice of Turaga Onewa did not speak again. With an irritated sigh, Pohatu jumped down and jogged with Speed back to Hali.

"Ready for Ga-Wahi," he asked.

"You're coming with me now? What about Ahkmou," Hali replied.

Pohatu looked back for the last time. Nothing. "Ahkmou seems to have run off on his own," Pohatu said. "I think we're better off without his company. Come on." he knelt down. "Climb onto my back. It'll be safer and faster if we run the distance."

"If you insist, Great Toa," Hali said.

"Oh, and no detours this time," Pohatu said. "You can hunt with the Water Toa. I don't enjoy wandering around Ape-dragon nests."

"Don't worry, my suva's full," Hali replied with a small laugh as she climbed on.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

Author's Note:(Is trying a new line break style. Could be more creative than those annoying line breakers, but possibly more distracting?)

Anyway, the Makikona are Stone apes, an amazing canon model I didn't know existed. You can thank the designer, whoever that amazing person(s) is, for this chapter. And for repeated plot device. Oh well. Gotta hype them mecha animals. Always were the most creative of Bionicle's antagonists.


	10. Sealed Grounds

"It will be seen to, Turaga. Great Pohatu will not notice our work. He will be allowed to depart the Koro without hindrance," Hewkii said in a soft, dull voice. He saluted and then he and his followers filed out of Turaga Onewa's inner apartment without another sound.

Onewa pointed a finger and made a circle in the air. The door rolled out of its slot and spun in place for a time. With a groan of granite it locked in place, sealing Onewa within his inner sanctum.

He remained alone, though Matoran were with him still. Almost a dozen dead whose friends and loved ones had not desired their remains lay arranged in three rows on the floor, Pall masks adorned their faces.

It had not been his intention to do this today. But it was efficient for him to guide the unremembered dead to their new duty. All were destined to join him far below the city. He trusted few living things with the tending and maintenance of the Sealed Grounds.

His power reached out and moved a large urn over the assembled cadavers. The urn inverted in midair and let its lid fall to the floor. At once, Onewa swung the urn back and forth, sprinkling its contents out over the Matoran. Flickering orange and yellow or pale buff sparks of light spun out of their confinement. They shivered as they drifted in crazed dances to the bodies.

When each spark struck a Matoran, it disappeared inside them. The eyes of the dead remained dim and unlit in death. Like lazy sleepers forced awake after suffering a long night of Le-Matoran merry-making—unrestrained revelry, in his lexicon—the Matoran shifted their limbs. Then, as if shaking off that stupor, they rose at varying rates to their feet. Some leapt with such vigor one might have expected them to shout. Others stumbled several times. Two remained on their backs, fidgeting, and some capered about once standing. Two even moved toward the door and stood guard as if posted to watch.

Long accustomed to the general behavior, the Turaga focused on the individual actions, cataloguing them so he might better appropriate each worker to their proper use, just as he did with the Matoran whilst they lived.

Sighing, he set down the urn and moved toward one of the flatter parts of his chamber's smooth, uneven walls. He was accustomed to their actions, but he took no pleasure in watching them. He remembered all of their names without looking at the inscriptions on the Pall masks. Each was a potential patient he might have been able to save, had he been there in time or foreseen the costly happenstances that resulted in their deaths. He took full responsibility. It was he who gave the Po-Matoran their work, more often than not, and so he who was to blame for any misfortune brought upon them by it. The good Matoran of course always refused his apologies. Rare was it that they blamed him for his imprecision.

Bitterness fought to claim his heart. It met his steel willpower was obliterated in shredded particles. He could not afford attention-leaching sentiment. Work must be done. It must be done soon and without error.

He tapped the wall with his axe. A fine layer of the smooth and polished sandstone fell in a dust waterfall to pile at his feet. Revealed was a large circular arrangement of grooves and holes. Pausing, he stretched out with his mind, seeking any sign of hostile presence. Be it the forces of Shadow or meddling heroism, both were harmful in this most dangerous task. Secrecy required paranoia and perfection to remain a reliable form of security.

For once in a long time, a laugh pounced on Onewa unnoticed. " _Secrecy is a tiring form of security, Onewa. If you're not stressed constantly by it, then you aren't doing it right,"_ Vakama's voice echoed. It seemed to echo up from a long, deep tunnel of memories.

 _Memories. I have to stay focused._ Onewa felt the seed of impatience trying to sprout roots again. He nipped them all. He wanted to wait until Pohatu left Po-Koro, but Takua's words to him were of too pressing a concern. When a building showed signs of structural damage, later never came soon enough. The problem was best taken care of as soon as possible.

It occurred to the Turaga of Stone that he was rattled. He confessed it was warranted. Things like this touched deep upon forbidden matters.

He replayed the conversation he had undergone with young Takua.

"Something is stalking you?"

"I'm not sure what it is, Wise Turaga, but it has to be real!"

"Explain it to me. No. I will engage in a search while I sift through the memories you wish to have excised."

Onewa refused to think further about what happened afterward. To ensure total security, he had destroyed all that transpired beyond that. The memories were gone, erased, from the netherland of thinking. A transcription of them in detail had been archived into a puzzle cube, one which he had then scrambled and locked. It now rested within his private suva, waiting transfer to a more secure location. He didn't think it was unsafe there, yet he misgave.

Another Turaga could reach into his suva through force. The suva could be damaged in combat and he not be able to access the information. It was confidential enough to warrant such extreme measures, however, and that was where the anger came from. What exactly _had_ that troublemaking fire-spitter gotten into? It would be better if Takua wondered off and starved! A plague of a thousand aat seeds upon him.

 _I must calm down. Such a fate is no mere gesture of disapproval. The Destral is but days out from its sighting. It could well be circling the island. Perhaps we will see it again off the northern coasts. The hope is that the island sows none of its seeds. Takua would do well to reach Ta-Wahi soon. But can he?_

The poor fool had wondered off in a stupor while Onewa chronicled and then destroyed the memorandum from his own brain. The Matoran must have been more damaged by the initial erasure than Onewa deemed. Or perhaps some other mischief had helped him. Regardless of _how_ or even the _why,_ Takua had escaped the Turaga's private apothecary.

 _I timed the process with an hourglass. Seven minutes were lost. In that time, Takua escaped. For a moment I feared the worst. Thank goodness the guards observed him departing by the Wahi exit._

Loss of time-perception was a major complication in the realm of memory cleaning and tearing. Even basic altering could become a trouble. To fix this, Onewa had inbuilt an hourglass within the side of his head, just before the ear. A strata of select sand types provided hourly or even minute-to-minute shifts in sound. Therefore, he _knew_ the procedure took no more than seven minutes. Yet Takua was beyond explication, gone.

 _Did he somehow retain the physical skill to get out on his own? Or, did he have someone to_ help _him leave before the procedure was finished_? He could think of only one character to maybe possibly have done this. He would question that certain Matoran aide of his with _very, very_ careful questions. _Once I find him. Just where did he disappear to this time?_

He returned thoughts to Takua. Destroying and dealing with large sequences of memories left an open wound in the psyche as it would the body, just like the removal of a major organ. What Onewa had failed to finish in the procedure was to "seal" the mental breach. By leaving, Takua's mind was without doubt bleeding thoughts and short-span memories from the raw lips of the incision.

 _Mata Nui keep him from Makuta,_ Onewa prayed. The mental cocoon he built about all his patients during mental examination and surgeries would provide the best protection against intrusion to the mind that Onewa could offer. It would wear off after a significant amount of time. About that he harbored no concern. His real fear was for the Matoran's mental state in wandering about like that. Granted, report said a Le-Matoran had flown Takua off toward the volcano, so it seemed the Ta-Matoran was not in danger of getting lost in the desert. _I'm sure he still has the stability and presence of mind to traverse his home Wahi without issue. That is fooling myself. These things never go right when Ta-Matoran are involved._

 _Especially_ that _one! I'm all but reverted to a curious young crafter to just think about what lies within that puzzle cube. What could be so important as to require that height of restriction on even myself?_ To erase my own memories of it?! _And to think what has me so rattled isn't considered to be of as great an importance!_

Speaking of, he had to decide whether to proceed on his concerns. Takua had warned him of something terrible and shadowed pursuing him in dark places. The description and mental images of something skittering about the dark, hissing and sometimes drawing close enough to reveal a fat, almost wormlike body, matched Onewa's deepest fears to a word. Then again, there were descriptions off from what he anticipated. The "dread" seemed to possess nothing short of miraculous means of travel. Takua could go anywhere and the dread still catch up with him at the moment he was in a vulnerable state.

 _There is no way one of those spawn of Makuta could have escaped the containment,_ Onewa found himself thinking. He knew better. There were no assumptions in his mind. _That's it then. I've got to try it. But what timing! I should have been_ more _impatient. Had I gone at once instead of pretending to caution, then I would know by now, and before the Roaming Island had reappeared. But Pohatu's arrival distracted me. I should have been more decisive. I should have acted, hazarding all threat of potential risks, minimized those present and already at work in the world._

Determination returned, and clarity. He would rectify his error now. Reaching out with his staff, Onewa began to work on the lock.

It took hours, and required all his attention. He hoped no one would disturb him in this time. Remembering the cadavers, he impressed his mind upon the sparks. One by one they ceased their inane actions and shuffled to stand behind him, all dead-eyed as any painted statue. He could not help but suppress an ill feeling. When he perished, would there be any way to tell the difference between him and his sculpture replicas? But the feeling encountered his resolve and disintegrated to irritable dust.

The puzzle consisted of a complex series of liquid metallic solutions and hard deposits. Only by siphoning the weight of these minerals through the lock's internal passages could the puzzle be solved. Of course, doing this changed the sequence necessary to decipher the locking mechanism the next time. Only if one knew all previous 42 consecutive sequences, as Onewa alone did, could a solution be reached.

Now, he knew no cipher was perfect, but it offered an excellent first line of defense. He felt sure none of the other Turaga could hope to solve it, save Nokama, who's Rau would simply grant her the correct sequences with so much as a glance. Annoying thing, the Rau.

With a sigh more ragged than a final breath, the key clicked and unlocked. The unwholesome noise was the result of air being granted passage through the lock. Stepping forward, he pressed himself against the stone. The wall was now composed of a very special kind of rock. It could be created only when the contaminating elements comprising the lock had been separated and placed into the right position. Until then, not even the most powerful Toa of Stone could transform the simple sandstone wall into a block of potatau (door-stone).

With the patient pace of a glacier, the potatau gate merged Onewa through. Without his powers of Stone, he would suffer excruciating pain as his smallest fibers permeated through the porous material. He searched about with Komau for any sign of hostile minds. When he found none, his thought turned inward. How peculiar it was that Pohatu shared such a similar name to potatau. He felt as if there might be a riddle of Destiny in that somewhere. Mata Nui's wisdom surpassed his own.

The other side of the gate was not the opposite side of the stone wall in his inner apartment, but quite some distance downward, below the foundations of Po-Koro itself, even below the Anchor. The potatau gate exit was originally cut from the same rock as the entrance, so it _had_ once occupied a position opposite the wall in the apartments. After having cut the segment away, Onewa moved it far below to serve as a secure, uncomfortable means of quick travel.

Drawing forth a glowstone shaped in the form of a ruby and saffron torch, Onewa stepped into the labyrinth. The torch helped combat the dimness, though there was more than enough light to guide him. Glowstones in the shape of flickering flames or delicate and exotic flowers hung from the ceiling or sides of the tunnel walls at intervals, ensuring the darkness never took complete hold.

Behind him, the fingers, arms and pale masks of the dead first melted through the stone. Without motive or reason, they piled up against the potatau in a jumble, and so exited the same way. They waved their limbs about, knocking against each other with the half-strength of a Matoran having an active dream in their sleep. One by one, the permeation complete, they dropped to the floor behind Onewa. Straightening, they waddled up behind him and stood, staring ahead like statues facing eternity.

Into the twisting passageways he led the way, counting his steps precisely, and exerting a bit of his power with each footfall. If he failed to make the correct number of steps, the hidden passage wouldn't unlock. It would also be very easy to miss. The labyrinth crawled deep into the earth like a confused bundle of copper string. It was part of the subterranean defense of the Koro, and onetime access to the Great Mine. Now, all that remained of that once growing network was the Canal of Echoes, which allowed for swift ferrying of goods to and from Onu-Koro.

Onewa reached out with his mind and soothed the countless chattering scavengers peering out at him from darkened holes and cracks in the walls and floor. Twinkling eyes, beady and full of hunger, stared down at him in packs from openings in the roof.

Soft squeaking noises rose and fell into Onewa's ears as the Stone Rats exchanged hush gossip about his arrival. Some of them scampered behind him after he passed their holes. Others crept out from the shadows into the gloom of the tunnels and hissed at him, showing wicked teeth. Others chewed away at brittle, discarded Matoran limbs at their narrowest points, and looked at him with eyes kindled with insatiable hunger.

A few rushed up to nibble at the cadavers, but a stern rebuke of Komau sent them racing away with loud squeaks of terror. A growing mob moved in to block the stoic parade of fallen Matoran and Onewa. They chattered and hissed, all desperate to snatch at least one of the bodies. Onewa refused them.

Unconcerned, Onewa made a steady line for one of their most crowded nests, which opened from a narrow crack in the wall. It was just small enough for him get through without squeezing. Hundreds of stone rats poured out between his feet or over the walls and ceiling as he approached, desperate to get away. As he walked through the next entry, even the ceiling seemed to ripple and squeak. Every now and then a rat would fall down almost atop him, hissing and thrashing with its tail. None dared ever use their claws, save one young snapper that took a nip at Onewa's foot. He directed Komau, and froze the thing solid. A kick sent it sliding across the floor and into a black gutter in the rock.

The cadavers waded through the seething horde of Stone Rats, ignoring the constant nibbles from the creatures as they tasted the rusting flesh metal beneath their armor. Some of the rats jumped to snag a bite off a finger or two, and hung there dangling as the Matoran waded on without care.

Onewa took command of the situation, forcing the rats to stop biting what was obviously _poison_ Matoran. The Stone Rats didn't by nature know what poison meant, as they could eat anything short of Makuta's spawn and not suffer. Onewa drew for them a solid idea in their blank, selfish little heads. To a one, the rats got the message, they nibbled no more.

At the core of the nest rested a circular hole in the floor. It seemed like any other air shaft once used for mine work. In fact, it looked natural to anyone not of the Po or Onu tribes. He lay down, and those rats under his sway took hold of him and pulled him on a black carpet into the pit. Clutching to him with their claws, they prevented the Turaga from toppling down the long way down. The stench of their lair rose up before him, a suffocating odor, as they drew him in deeper. More rats retreated up the hole opposite him as his entourage bore him deeper.

At the bottom, the rats set Onewa down with as much gentleness as they could manage. With a wave from him they scurried back up their hole to guard it against anything edible. He moved through the piles of rusting metal and pieces, refusing to analyze them today. Later he would, and thus learn what, or who it looked like, had meandered too close to this commune of Stone Rats. He had given stern orders for no one from his Village to travel down to this region. Who could have ventured into this place? And why? Or, more important to him, for _whom?_

The base of the hole was a second mineral cipher. Glowstones built into its channels bathed him and the surrounding detritus in pale yellow rings of light. He unlocked the potatau in short order. Feet-first, he sank into the rock with a hiss of released air from the other side.

Two or three at a time, the cadavers dropped down the shaft, smacking the door-stone with muted thuds as they hit. The sinking began, as if they were rusting into the sands at a rapid pace.

The other end of the gate was a significant distance out from Po-Koro's basement. It lay in the ruins now submerged in the sea. Cold darkness welcomed the Turaga into the Sealed Grounds, and then fled when the calm amber glow of his stone torch arrived through the potatau gate.

Onewa reached out with his power. Soft grating sounds issued from the long, high-ceilinged corridor ahead of him. Some distance off, a part of the right wall broke clean in two and drew outward like a pair of doors. The Turaga proceeded to it, his followers ambling behind him like three-sided shadows.

Beyond the doors lay a large chamber dozens of Bios in diameter. Beehive in shape, it tapered as it rose. The floor broke into descending tiers like stairs of a coliseum. Set into the tiers and walls, floor and ceiling, were precious stones, amethyst, ruby, sapphire and emerald, opal and diamond. At the center of the chamber floor towered a yellow lodestone fashioned into a three-sided obelisk. On it were etched all the names of the dead Onewa put into service in the Sealed Grounds. Also on the walls grew crystals of all kinds, mostly titanite and aragonite.

All about the chamber danced sparks like those trapped within the urn in his apartments. Some spun in place. Several wafted up to the ceiling where they mimicked stars. Not a few spun as if caught in a ghost wind. A few floated motionless. The greater majority orbited the lodestone obelisk.

Onewa etched with his power the names of those fallen that stood behind him. Then, he counted the remaining sprites. His task complete, he exited. With a small flipping and shifting of the block systems hidden in the walls, the secret doors resealed the Vault of Sprites.

What were the sparks? Onewa had seen them first dancing about the crypts. He probed them with Komau. His findings concluded they were not the life-spark or lost souls of the dead. They were not wondering ghosts as Matoran lore would call them. He dubbed them spirit echoes at first, but later conceded to the phrase ghost sprites, instead. The Matoran saw no difference, and he supposed the uniformed could have no better opinion.

Onewa was not uniformed. The sprites were but reminder shadows cast of the life that had been. They could not think, and it was hard to control them, for they had no process of thought or mind on which to write commands.

How had they physical manifestation? That was the real breakthrough. The credit had to go to Nuju for the discovery. It appeared that while the soul departed, the elemental power that fueled the bodies of Matoran in life remained. Weak and all but useless in a standard setting, the traces of that power returned to the natural world and gathered in places of like element from which it was cast. The power was colored, or imprinted with the tendencies of the Matoran it had once been a part of.

Once his discoveries were complete, Onewa had taken to collecting them wherever they could be found. It felt wrong to leave a visible proof of those that once lived roaming about uncared for. Great practice it had been, using his Komau to overpower the ghost sprites had challenged him.

Aside Nuju and Whenua, none of the other Turaga had been made aware of his discoveries. A good thing, as he had not discouraged their sale. The ghost sprites acted as elemental sparks. So it was that they held great constructive value for Technics.

From the Vault, Onewa came to another door, this one reinforced by the hardest of metals. Upon gaining access through its locking seal, he ushered in the Matoran. Here, he imprinted on them their various tasks, and gave each the tool their echoes were most familiar with. The greater number received disks. He passed out the Kanoka himself. They were from a dwindling stack in one corner of the armory. These were the old Kanoka forged in the ancient city. What few of their number remained the Turaga kept hidden. Onewa could still forge them given the right conditions, however, these he now handed out to his loyal guards were of a matchless quality beyond his skill replicate.

Freshly armed and garbed with pointed ceremonial guard masks, the Matoran exited the armory and scattered, following the paths Onewa had granted them. They were a superior choice over most Technics. Corrupted masks could turn anyone, even a Turaga, against his fellows. But these Matoran guards were dead. They could not be so easily swayed to obedience by a tainted mask.

Further into the tunnels Onewa ventured. He moved at a much slower pace than he had before. The effort of issuing commands to the lifeless guards taxed his strength. His will forced him onward, and also his apprehension. His powers spread through the stone as a ripple, hunting for anything amiss. No traps had been activated that he could discern.

Silence prevailed. He used his powers to stifle his footsteps to ensure no noise from him interfered. He half expected the telltale scrape of slithering body over stone. Was there nothing wrong? Now and then he heard the trod of one of his Matoran. Not all were guards. Some had purposes elsewhere, such as tending to glowstones or feeding the living prisoner.

He wanted to take a shortcut to his ultimate destination. But the Sealed Grounds demanded his total inspection. Rounding a corner, he happened upon a low-cut chamber with a door of polished iron. It reflected the shifting light of two yellow glowstones. A few stray sprites danced about them. It seemed citrine was forming over the light fixtures. He shattered the parasitic crystals. It wouldn't do to have the lights all destroyed, especially since there were few lights in the place. The fresh helpers would render this problem nonexistent soon.

"Hello?" a voice called from the other side of the iron door. A Matoran's wild green eyes peered through a thin slit in the frame. "Onewa! Please! Let me out, let me out! Have you come to let me go? Let me go," the Matoran pleaded.

Reaching out with his powers, though it pained him, Onewa examined the Matoran's thoughts. "Hello, Manatu. I tell you are not expiring from wont of food."

"Please! I beg you, let me out for just one minute," Manatu pleaded. "I promise I won't say _anything_ about the Ancient City, or the Calamities. No, nothing about those." His voice fell to a hush whisper. "Oh!" he perked up and started banging on the walls. "Don't go!"

Onewa ignored Manatu and continued to walk away. He had found something in Manatu's memories that disturbed him. The prisoner had been visited by someone other than Onewa in recent days.

"PLEASE! I BEG YOU!" the poor Matoran screamed and wailed. His shrieks for pity ended in a pathetic whine, and then died off into horrible silence.

Manatu was a strange case. He was the only Matoran on Mata Nui who recalled the Days Before, of which the Turaga Council did not speak in public. More to the point, Manatu's mind was immune to the powers of Komau. That should not have been possible. It gave Onewa a shudder, and he fought off fear's tickling breath as he hurried through the halls. The shadows about him felt a bit thicker, more ominous than before.

 _Even to this day I cannot place my finger on it,_ Onewa thought to himself. Once, he'd decided to solve the enigma of Manatu once for all. He'd sat down before the Matoran in his private apartments and worked on his mind for two whole years. Neither had been complete and sound after the experience. Nothing was gained from it, either. Manatu appeared to be an average, normal Matoran. Yet he possessed a perfect, immutable memory. Certainly, since Naming Day he had proven an exemplar at recitation and memorization. But even so, to resist a Noble Mask of Mind Control, that was not possible without an ulterior power to counteract it. He could be probed, but not altered. That alone was… strange. Might it be a gift from Mata Nui? Onewa did not think so. His instinct said otherwise.

He ruled his instinct. Premonition for Onewa had been honed into an exact and precise instrument, same as any compass he might create. What was it about Manatu's nature that that felt so wrong? There wasn't anything. Onewa just felt something was… amiss. And so he kept Manatu in isolation. Even if the Matoran had been a fluke, a strange recipient of a great gift to remember what everyone else long forgot, Turaga Onewa could not chance the safety of Mata Nui. The Island required absolute defense against the enemy. Besides, he felt sure something sinister was at work in Manatu's case. He would not let the Matoran go until he knew what it was and for what plans it existed to propel.

Thoughts of bizarre Matoran redirected Onewa back on track. He had to get this done. He was distracting himself. _To think procrastination would rear its head against me. Dare it after a millennia? I must be more shaken up than I thought._

As he drew near his objective, Onewa felt the urge to tremble. It grew darker, with fewer glowstones. That was needed. Whenua schedule routine observation checks. His Noble Mask of Night Vision, Ruru, lent him the power to scan dark places. It was his Duty to spend most of his time in meditation deep in Onu-Koro. From there he cast his eyes hither and thither, searching for _any_ sign of the Enemy. It was in Shadow that Makuta entered into the Island in times past, and doubtless would he do so again. It wasn't possible for Whenua to watch everything at once, of course, but some places took special importance. If Onewa was the mouth and ears of the Turaga Council, it was Whenua who served for their eyes.

Onewa halted. The room beyond was unlit save for the light emanating from the mineral lock. The puzzle took up almost the entire opposite wall, and was composed of ten concentric rings and connecting channels, all lit with pale blue glowstone. This cipher put all others to complete shame.

He breathed a sigh of relief. The four pillars standing sentry in the room were undamaged. Nothing had triggered their traps or attacked them outright. He lowered them with his power into the floor, deactivating them, though after a time they would reemerge on their own.

Stretching out with his power to its uttermost limit, Onewa sent his words to a mind that had long ago opened itself to his own. " _Whenua, I have need to share reports. Something has happened."_ Onewa slid to his knees and propped himself up with his staff. The effort of such long-distance communication almost knocked him senseless. He should have waited to create the cadaver sentries _before_ a distanced counsel with Whenua.

 _"_ _I'm here, old friend. Yet many reports are before me. Perhaps your report will shed light on which one you need from my list?"_ Whenua's voice replied, though it was not through a projection of his own. Onewa merely read what thoughts were written in the other Turaga's head. It was a safe means of communication, and required little effort on Onewa's part. It was the outgoing words from himself that devoured his stamina.

 _"_ _Ever one to speak a librarian's sense,"_ Onewa replied. He took some time to rest before responding again.

 _"_ _Is all well with Toa Pohatu? I must say, Onua has not proven the perfect overseer for the Great Mine as I hoped. But his help to Onepu gives me much time to search. We need it with the Dark Island appearing before us again."_

 _"_ _Pohatu is fine, and soon to depart on his journey. I left him with a certain inclination that today would be a good time to escape. Moreover, my concern lies in the Sealed Grounds. Takua the Ta-Matoran Chronicler left me with a disturbing impression that he is stalked by a kraata. That encounter happened before we recovered and healed Pohatu. It is to my shame that I forestalled coming here until now to see about Takua's claim."_

Whenua's mind flashed white for a moment in shock. _"Mata Nui. Say it is not so."_

 _"_ _There's more,"_ Onewa continued in a grim mental tone. _"I've commenced an inspection of the Sealed Grounds. Nothing appeared amiss until I surveyed Manatu's memories of recent days. He has seen another Matoran in the Grounds."_

Something clacked behind Onewa. A ripple of seeking power spread from him. It quested about, seeking the cause of the sound, and then returned to him with its findings. Nothing. Concern grew in him. _"Whenua, please give a report on the last screening you made here. Namely, how long ago was it?"_

 _"_ _Ten days. You think someone sneaked into the Sealed Grounds within that span of time?"_

 _"_ _We must_ know _,"_ Onewa replied. _"I believe they are still here with me. Something catches my ears, yet I cannot sense them with my power."_

 _"_ _That's a definite concern. Does the potatau gate look jimmied? An intruder couldn't have breached the gaol without leaving some trace."_

 _"_ _I'm approaching it,"_ Onewa said. He forced himself up and began the long trek across the dark room. Traps set by his own hand forced the ground to make cracking noises as his feet broke through a crust of shale. Each sound of shattered pottery set his nerves on edge.

A shaft of white light shot out of the dark. It started at the lower left corner and swept its way back and forth as it worked toward the lock end of the room.

 _"_ _I've found tracks—no, much of the floor has been shattered."_ Whenua reported. The light of Ruru passed over and ahead of Onewa. _"Something was here. Can you tell how long?"_

 _"_ _No. I could not sense the cracks. Strange."_ Onewa peered at the areas over which Whenua tracked his Mask's light. He noticed a web of cracks issuing out from multiple points of impact. _"An obvious ploy to disguise what was here. The intruder was taken off guard by the floor trap. They capitalized instead of panicked, and left as many tracks as possible. However, it is not with doubt. A Matoran did this."_

 _"_ _Come, friend. Look here!"_ Whenua's light halted above the ground just in front of the puzzle lock, bathing a series of objects in light.

Onewa arrived and began to search through the evidence. "A water container, several ingots, nutshells and—ah, it appears they left their script cube." Onewa took the cube and began to read the encryptions on it.

Most Matoran records were carved in stone. To facilitate more compact tomes, script blocks were created. From them, script cubes, or puzzle cubes, were born. The blocks were designed to come apart in a controlled fashion into separate pieces, the insides of which would have script on them just as the outer faces of the cube would have. The more clever designers turned the cubes into a kind of puzzle, dividing the blocks into segments that could be rotated in various ways. Through the rotations, sentences could be broken and reformed into new ones. There were usually guides on which order to rotate the puzzle, providing a map to generating new sentences and so allowing for a great deal to be coded into a single stone.

The puzzle cube in Onewa's hands was written in a cipher unintelligible to him. If it provided a rotation guide, he could not tell. He guessed it wasn't meant to record information. " _This cube is for breaking the code of the lock."_

 _"_ _Nonsense. I know your mineral ciphers. That's impossible with a simple cipher cube. Not even the Assembler could break it."_

 _"_ _Don't be so sure. We know a Matoran got this far to leave these things, old friend. Unless you suggest the potential for survival essentials to venture in on their own power? Logic demands that the Matoran broke through my other mineral lock. If not, that means they got through by digging a tunnel through your collapsed mines."_

 _"_ _There is no way into the Grounds outside of an overt excavation or your potatau gate," Whenua agreed. "Both of us watch this place. We would have seen something amiss, and the guards would have reported it and attempted to block such a breach."_

 _"_ _Search the gaol,"_ Onewa said. _"I am going through. I want to be prepared for what I will meet there."_ He placed the puzzle cube into his suva and pulled on his staff, rising to his feet on shaking legs. It was a bad time to face a surprise danger. Weakened, he could do little if there was a bad surprise waiting beyond the gate. At least, he would have time to recover while he undid the lock.

 _"_ _As you wish."_ Whenua's light faded.

Sitting cross-legged, Onewa gripped his staff in both hands and laid it on his lap. Part of the hammer end touched the ground so he might sense telltale vibrations from an approaching foe behind him. Onewa put out of his mind the threatening darkness behind him. Nothing appeared to be there, but he knew someone had been in recent times. Were they still hiding somewhere in the grounds? Never had Onewa lacked courage. Years of fighting Makuta had honed his nerves well. He actually took _comfort_ in this position. This was his Duty, his Destiny. Doubt was the true enemy he feared, and here there was none, only the task at hand and the danger present, if not self-evident. _Come,_ he challenged. _I am old and weak. Strike at this poor, old Turaga. Reveal yourself._

The blue channels of the mineral puzzle shifted as Onewa opened the lock circle by circle. Trickles of mercury, rustles of lead and the death-rattle of iron balls filled the room with a constant susurrus while he worked. Halfway through, Onewa took a moment from his work to check on Whenua. The other Turaga had taken some time to report to him. Why? That was not optimal.

 _"_ _Whenua, what has become of you?"_

 _"_ _All well,"_ Whenua replied. " _There appears to be nothing wrong in the gaol. It is as I last found it. I'm searching the rest of the Grounds. No sign of digging. All the guards are in place, including the new ones you have recently brought. That would be 43 Fallen Caretakers, correct? One is feeding Manatu in an attempt to calm him down. Must you upset the poor thing?"_

Something clicked a warning in Onewa's thought, almost disrupting his work on the puzzle. He spun a segment of the wall until he heard a satisfying click. He had reached a stopping point. He didn't continue on to the next ring. " _Whenua, how many Caretakers did you count? There should be 42."_

 _"_ _I'm able to count as well as you, Stonecutter. There are forty-three. Do you mean…"_

" _One of our dead is not as dead as we thought,"_ Onewa said. His mind thrummed with satisfied anger. They had found the foe. _"Not my most clever day. To think they would hide in plain sight, and I not notice! Astounding."_

 _"_ _You would have noticed were you not expended from creating more Caretakers,"_ Whenua surmised. " _You were not careful this time, old friend. Have you tampered with your own memories lately?"_

 _"_ _Yes. I… it was the Takua matter. I'll speak no more of it. If he is stalked by kraata, then it means either it escaped, or the unthinkable has happened at last."_

Whenua's mind shuddered. " _Makuta couldn't have sent more to the Island. Po-Wahi and Le-Wahi Tikokerea still stand at full strength."_

 _"_ _We'll find out for sure soon. Keep an eye on the Caretaker movements. Inform me if one of them approaches this chamber. We'll sort out the living from the dead when this task is done."_

Thirty and one hours trickled through Onewa's hourglass. At the thirty-first the final ring completed. Onewa spun it into place, and then drew the secret key from his suva. Should anyone try to press through this potatau gate as they would in his apartment, they would be transported to a slab sunk to the bed of a certain lake in Ta-Wahi. A molten lake, to be precise. Of course, the process of permeation could not be stopped halfway. An intruder would experience the twin excruciation of pressing into the door-stone even as the magma melted them while they exited.

Fitting the key into the slot with a grim smile, Onewa waited until the light faded, signaling the potatau was formed, and then pressed his hands to the stone, and sank into it.

Time pressed on. Onewa recovered and concentrated his strength for a fierce battle ahead. Preparation was the best friend of those who lacked raw strength. He refused to indulge in the envious fantasy of possessing Pohatu's power.

He did regret not bringing the Toa of Stone on the inspection. Should the worst prove true, they would need his power in hunting down the kraata.

With a final puckering sound, the potatau released Onewa. He steadied himself as he came to stand within the kraata gaol.

He didn't feel safe.

 _It's far too exposed. I will need to build a new place of incarceration. One with many, many more gates… and no other Turaga or Matoran involved in their construction._

He stalked forward, glowstone in hand. Sixteen white shafts of light connected floor and ceiling. Their source were two opposing rings of glowstones, one from the ceiling shining down to the floor, the other ring on the floor casting light up at the ceiling. The room was otherwise shadowed, allowing Whenua to manifest his Night Vision for daily inspection from the dark corners of the room.

The light of the glowstones fell against a twisted mass of limbs in the center of the chamber. It hung from the ceiling, the light revealing it in all its hideous, imposing glory. The Watcher detached from its place and landed on twenty-four silent legs. It skittered over to him, moving with tremendous grace unbecoming of an insect. Its Matoran face titled sideways to the right as it approached, and then swiveled to the left.

Onewa suppressed a chill as the face came to within a Tio of his Mask. He looked the dead eyes full on. While the Technic had no life of its own, as shown well through its lifeless, unchanging red eyes, the livid violet thing latched onto its face radiated life.

The thing was no proper Matoran mask. It was composed of a substance similar but far more rubbery and pliant than even the softest organ material. Onewa refused to believe it was metal-flesh at all, for his powers could not affect it. It's shape was roughly square, with two horn-like points that wrapped about the upper temples to secure it to the Technic's head mounting. Ribbing and artistic grooves covered the face, granting it a complex, albeit malevolent style. Whoever crafted it had quite outdone themselves with the design.

The thing's mind was its most striking feature, not its face. Yes, it lived. It lived and possessed a will all but impervious to Onewa's Komau. Indeed, he had never dominated it or forced out a command even once. The Watcher guarded the gaol because it had been watching the chamber long before Onewa happened upon it.

To detail, the chamber was square in shape, with grey walls skinned in part by green moss or mold. Blocks of a waxen substance tiled the floor, each with a broad circle in the center, raised above the floor by an inch. Around the rims of these circular pieces grew the bulk of the moss and mold. He deduced the round sections were in fact plugs to chambers. His Komau assured nothing alive lay beyond. All there was were the strange dormant Technics known by Whenua as "Bohrok".

According to the Turaga of Earth, Bohrok were servants of Mata Nui who helped shape and form the islands. Once finished with their tasks, he lay them to rest until creation should be recreated. It was assumed that was to come when the Great Spirit awoke and banished Makuta forever.

The Watcher, it seemed, was a guardian set over the ancient builders. It gladdened Onewa to know this. Makuta would never taint the Bohrok with things like the Watcher overseeing their sleep. Now, exactly what race the Watcher was, he couldn't say. Whenua indicated the violet flesh mask was known as a "Krana". What mattered to Onewa was that Krana resisted his Komau's strongest advances. And if the Krana of the Watcher could do that, it could resist the corruption of the Kraata.

 _"_ _The sleep is undisturbed,"_ the Watcher hissed into Onewa's mind. _"All is clean above?"_

Its powers to cast thoughts into the minds of others far surpassed Onewa's own skills. It was frightening, for in no way could he shield himself from it, no matter how tight a cocoon he wove with Komau. The Krana projected its thoughts right on through as if the words had been thought by Onewa himself. He suppressed real fear.

 _"_ _Yes,"_ Onewa answered with effort. _"All is clean. Continue to watch this nest."_

He had tricked the Watcher into believing the gaol canisters were filled with Bohrok. The Watcher had promised to protect them without fail. He tried to muster his thoughts. It was hard, facing the Krana after all the day's earlier rigors.

 _"_ _Are you certain no parasite or thief has not contaminated the fresh combs?"_ He pointed at the round stone canisters. Each stood about the same height as Onewa. There were sixteen of them, each placed within the pillars of light.

 _"_ _Come."_ The Watcher sounded disgusted that its judgment was questioned. It crawled with the feline grace of a Muaka to the nearest canister and stroked it with fondly with a limb. _"All is safe. They will not fail to awaken."_

Onewa inspected the canister for himself, ignoring the Watcher's anger. For a moment he felt like snarling at himself in rage. He forced himself to calm down. The Krana's telepathic strength was so subtle and absolute that it made him feel its own emotions. It was good, in a way, to know without doubt what the Krana was feeling. At the same time, it proved ever difficult to maintain control of his own wits.

And Onewa had to be in control to do what would come next without error. Error could mean death, or worse. Seduction…

Tapping the canister with his staff, Onewa circled the canister. Within, he sensed hot rage and boiling agitation. It settled almost at once as his thoughts brushed the minds within. The sick miasma of shadowed thoughts tried to whittle into his mind like weevils. He excised the tendrils of corruption and continued his probe. There were no leaks or cracks in the canister. No sign that the protodermis within had been drained. The canister was secure, and the Kraata inside were undisturbed, if unhappy in their imprisonment. Good. He wished them everlasting suffering.

He moved on to inspect the other fifteen canisters. None showed signs of leakage or change since the last physical inspection. All while he did so, the Watcher followed him, Krana focused upon him, bearing down on him the constant urge to be gentle with the "combs", lest he cause damage.

 _"_ _All is clean and safe,"_ Onewa said at last to the Watcher. _"Your work is good."_

 _"_ _Most pleasing,"_ the Krana said in thanks, sharing Satisfaction and Pleasure at a job well done.

A sudden convulsion of agitation filled the Watcher! Its head darted in all directions. The Krana writhed upon the Matoran face. _"Beware. Beware. Agitation!"_

 _"_ _What does that mean?_ " Onewa wondered, sharing the Krana's wariness.

The nearest canister rattled and shook as if Mangai itself was erupting inside of it. The next canister topped over sideways, crushing glowstones and scattered others as it rolled over them. Onewa and the Watcher dove for the second canister at once.

While the Watcher grabbed hold of the stone container with its legs and arrested its movement, Onewa reached out with his mind and forced the wild Kraata inside to submission.

Hate and triumphant sneers punched him in his resolve, as if between the eyes. He fell back onto his rear. _"No,"_ the Kraata inside their stone gaols seemed to tell him. " _You will not shut us out!"_ But his will was stronger. He forced them back into a state of sedation. Komau was not to be denied. The Watcher helped, cooing the Kraata back to sleep with its own indomitable mind.

Then the third kraata canister down the line tottered over, and the next, and then the next after that.

 _Mata Nui, no. how could this be happening? Nothing Makuta has done until now has managed to stir them. The Kraata are sealed and helpless. How can this be happening now?_

 _"_ _It is not time to awaken. The time is not come! The order is not now. Sleep, go back to sleep,"_ the Watcher urged, just as disturbed as Onewa at the sudden surge of violence from the Kraata.

Stone growled. Onewa turned around with unwilling feet. He beheld his nightmare. The rearmost canister's lid opened, as if an invisible hand were unscrewing it. It fell with a dull thud to the floor. And turned to dust. A seething hiss escaped the canister's open mouth.

Twelve more struck up the chorus.

Desperate, Onewa reached upward with Komau, seeking the Toa of Stone. To his amazement, Pohatu was not so far away. _He's still asleep! Fool, wake up!_ Then, he remembered the traitorous Matoran still lurking. That Matoran couldn't be allowed to get away with his devilry. He hammered out a quick warning into Pohatu's dream, and then had to stop as he sensed fingers of malice forcing their way into his own mind.

Pulling off his Mask, Onewa, Turaga of Po-Koro, hunter of Kraata, fled for the potatau gate. Black marks like grew upon the mask in his hand. A series of furious shrieks went up behind him as the Kraata lashed out to stop him from sealing off their one means of escape.


	11. Meandering Dunes

Sunset arrived to send off the second day of Pohatu and Hali's journey with a fantastic fire dance. Both travelers spent this latter part of the evening as a time to rest. The coolest part of the day should have been the point to pick up the pace, but Hali warned that most predators became active in the darkening hours.

Pohatu had jogged most of the way with Hali on his back since that morning, and needed some time to cool down, at any rate. Precious water was life itself. Pohatu learned from exhaustion and thirst that Hali's advice was sage. They needed to conserve their water to the last drop. Of course, Pohatu hadn't known this at the time of setting out. He hadn't known it would be so hot, either.

"I can't believe the Toa of Stone didn't remember to pack enough water," Hali said out the side of her mouth. Both knew she wasn't fooling either of them. The comment was _meant_ to be heard.

"Look, I'm too parched to argue," Pohatu said, his voice a bit dry and cracked from thirst. "I'm sorry, okay? I won't make the mistake of bringing only two urns of water with me next time."

"There may not _be_ a next time," Hali groused back, eyeing the desolation of Bara Magna. It actually looked _kinda_ pretty, its edges turning gold and orange as it ascended above the horizon. It would dominate the sky tonight, having swung close in its pass between Rehua and Moana Poi. _Great, I get to watch the dead world while I thirst to death. As if I didn't have enough sand and bare rock in my scenery._ She glanced around at the dunes and distant rock formations in the northeast, and despaired of anything pleasant or reassuring.

"Hali, you didn't _have_ to give me your water. I'll be fine so long as I don't run at full speed all day tomorrow."

"And you might not be. We won't make it to the next water source before running out," Hali objected. "Besides, I can't just go and let the Toa of Stone thirst to death while I had water to give. I couldn't. It's the Ga-Matoran code, our Duty, to always provide water when we have it to give. Just as it is yours to awaken the Great Spirit."

"Right," Pohatu muttered, and looked up and pointed at Bara Magna. "Hey. What's the story behind that desert rock up there?"

Hali looked up at the dead world and sighed. "It's a thing put up there to depress me. The sister of the Great Spirit and Makuta ruled it. She's the one who created the Rahi."

"Then I'd like her to do something about all these pets of hers that have gotten down here," Pohatu said, in all seriousness.

"She's dead. Makuta slew her."

"Oh. Well, _of course_ ," Pohatu said, throwing up a gauntlet and exhaling.

"Perhaps you might find a way to revive her with Mata Nui's help," Hali suggested.

"I wouldn't count it," Pohatu said. "Any sane Toa would be eaten, assuming her whole domain is filled with strange beasts like this desert."

"Perhaps." Hali fidgeted, and looked up at Pohatu, who ambled along at a swagger that combined leisure with fatigue. "So… Pohatu."

"Hmm?"

"After we reach a crossing for the river, I can go the rest of the way by myself. A watercraft may even be able to take me down to the bay on the water."

Pohatu looked down at her and frowned. "Weren't we going to visit Ga-Koro together? My plan was for us to find the Toa of Water."

Hali tried to meet his gaze, but failed. "Yes, if you insist."

"Wait, hold it," Pohatu said, coming to a stop at the lip of a deep trough between the arid dune swells. "Look, I'll speed run us to the river if you're that worried my unpreparedness for desert travel will kill us. Or is this about something else?"

Hali shuffled in place. She was going to get killed speaking to him like this. Pohatu didn't mind, but the Turaga would. _Pohatu'll say something about me to Nokama in passing, and then she'll force me through a meditative cleansing or something. No. Nononono. I don't want to go through that again!_ She looked back up at Pohatu and took in a breath to speak. "I'm sorry, Great Toa. I'm more than happy you have put up with me and don't mind going all the way to my village, honest. But, I feel like I'm distracting you from your duty. Didn't you mention yesterday that Turaga Onewa's voice was guiding you to seek the Toa of Ice?"

"Yeah, sure, he did. What of it?" Pohatu said, dismissing her question with a lazy wave. "I can do that after seeing Ga-Koro. You told me it's what a _real_ village looks like, with _live_ Matoran and everything."

"It's in the opposite direction…"

"I'm making it a round trip," Pohatu explained. "You saw how fast I can run, Hali. I'm sure it won't take more than an extra few days. It isn't like Onewa told me it was urgent."

"Yet, you also said he gave you a premonition to leave when you did," Hali said. "How do we know there wasn't some kind of trouble? Po-Koro was in a state of severe watchfulness on our departure, remember."

"Look, Hali, something is telling me you think I should up and run at full speed for that mountain over there," Pohatu said. He looked toward the center of Mata Nui.

Backlit by Mangai's caldron smokes, the tapering slope of Mt. Ihu glowed red in the dusk, like a new lance rising from the volcano's natural forges.

"Yes? Why not?" Hali flinched. She was shying around the point. But, the Toa of Stone, as nice as he was about most things, seemed to not enjoy discussing the Virtues. Unity, Duty, Destiny. None them seemed to encourage him. He was a like stone. He was at peace where he was, and would remain so for a long time unless sculpted into something more. _Hali, you're you. He's him—one of the Six Heroes foretold to us! If you try to be the one who "chisels" him, it's going to end with this being your last trip._ She wanted to kick herself hard, or take out a Kanoka and hit herself with it. _I might not have to,_ she thought, looking up at the Toa's displeased scowl.

"Is there a reason I must," Pohatu countered, after waiting and watching Hali squirm about. He had no clue why she seemed to edgy. Did she sense some kind of danger he didn't? He glanced about them, and released a bit of his power in that sand-ripple technique. _Nope. Sand. That's all._

"It feels to me like you're disobeying Onewa on purpose," she managed to say, and did a little dance of fright as Pohatu's power released a ripple out from his feet. She skipped over the little sand swells, afraid they might knock her down.

Pohatu looked her right in the face, arresting the Matoran's attention with his flaring orange eyes. "I am not beholden to the good Turaga."

Hali forced herself to blink and look away. "My deepest apologies, Toa Pohatu. I meant no offense. Yet, his advice is well-meant. Why do you not follow it and see if it works out?"

"Oh, I understand where you're thinking from, Hali," Pohatu said, his stern demeanor vanishing and his cheerful side reemerging.

He smiled and skidded down the side of the dune, his armored feet sliding with such ease and lightness that they made no sound. At the bottom, he gestured for Hali to follow. Sitting down, Hali slid down after him, and a miniature sand-slide followed her. Pohatu scratched his head. He'd barely dislodged ten grains on his slide, and it went faster. _Huh, I feel some of my power at my feet. Guess I didn't stop the sand-ripple. Nice trick if I don't want to leave tracks behind me, sometime._

Which he didn't. Pohatu had a sneaking suspicion that, for all his faults, Onewa warned him of Ahkmou through the strange dream he had in Po-Koro. It was true that the Matoran with the dagger of black fire and Ahkmou shared the same kind of mask, down to the color. But why would Onewa use such an untrustworthy individual with the position of Turaga's Aide unless he be trustworthy? _Nothing about what Onewa does makes sense,_ he answered himself.

"You see, Hali," Pohatu said as she dusted off, "I'm not the happiest with the state of Po-Koro. Nothing Onewa does makes sense to me."

"Even if it doesn't make sense, it doesn't mean it isn't a good thing deep down," Hali said, cupping her hands together. "Like some certain Matoran I know."

Pohatu mused over that a moment, and began to distract himself, due to sheepish understanding, by rolling the sand into a small ball by the tip of his feet. It was a neat little way to practice his raw, uncut powers. "Yes," he said at last, kicking the little sand ball away. It sailed into a dune with a muted puffing noise. "I know, and I don't expect to understand at once. What I am doing, in my own way, is teaching Onewa how to understand _me,"_ Pohatu explained, both to himself and Hali. His words came out a bit slow, for he was forming them as he went.

"You certain," Hali asked. "You don't sound like it."

"Hmm, yes, that's definitely how I feel, what I'm doing here, Hali. Onewa needs to learn a lesson in politeness. That's one thing I _do_ know, how someone should be treated. If he _needed_ me to go to Ko-wherever for him, he needs to tell me _why._ I'd be happy to go. All the sneaking, _mind controlling,_ and secretiveness makes me lean a bad way toward him."

"Like I said, Onewa, all the Turaga, do things we don't understand," Hali said. "They do it because they're wise and ancient. Maybe they're just eccentric in some—a lot—of ways."

"You don't have to tell me," Pohatu said, chuckling. " _Precision,"_ he mimicked Onewa's voice to the best of his ability, and hunched his back a bit.

"It doesn't mean they're not trying or don't use their oddities to help," Hali finished, trying to rush her words out before the laughter caught up. "N-noble Onewa may have matters he can't divulge right now, or didn't think mattered."

Pohatu hunched his back further and began to hobble toward Hali, miming a staff in his hand. "That is a very _precise_ description. Efficient. Most efficient." This time, he nailed the voice impersonation.

Hali rewarded him with a laugh. Pohatu joined, and, for a time, they forgot the severity of their discussion.

A third voice continued laughing a fraction of a moment too long, continuing for a syllable after Pohatu stopped.

He raised a hand for Hali to go quiet, and listened. But, the other laugh had ended. _It sounded like an echo of my own voice,_ he thought, and dismissed it. "False alarm, Hali. I thought I heard something," he said aloud.

"In any case, we should keep moving," Hali said. "The water problem is real and won't be solved with us camping here."

"How far now until we reach the Motara River," Pohatu asked.

"If we didn't need to fjord it, not far," Hali said. She pointed the way they had come. "It branches off into the Tiro Canyon regions right above the Tiro River, which feeds back into it further down. But that way would not only be longer, it takes us to the bulk of the Makikona nests, among other Rahi. We decided since the Makikona encounter to not stay on that route. Probably for the best."

"I remember you said that yesterday," Pohatu said, nodding. "And I guess north isn't good either?"

"Not my first choice, since that way would take forever and wouldn't prove any safer, the opposite, really. We need to strike for a southern point, I'd prefer the abandoned harbor. It's also downstream to the Korio Mahi, which means there won't be as many nasty stuff in the water. Last I heard."

"What is the Korio Mahi? Aside from being another thing I have trouble pronouncing," Pohatu asked.

"It's an old Kini built into a dam. It was overrun and abandoned before my birth, but I've explored it before. It's big, very big, and runs all under the desert." Hali spread her arms wide. "It was built to perform a lot of tasks, including channel water from Motara to Po-Koro and Onu-Koro. And mine. It used water to mine through a big portion of the desert."

"It sounds massive," Pohatu said, squatting down. He had a feeling he would be seeing the inside of the place sooner or later. From the way Hali talked, it was probably still important or dangerous, both of which seemed magnetized toward his being.

"Yes. In fact, some of it is probably below our feet right now."

"Really?" Pohatu stomped the ground and released another ripple ping. His ability to search like Onewa was, so far as he could tell, quite inferior. He could sense the stone far below, but it was hard to judge distance after a certain point. Then, he felt it, an empty space. Or something that reminded him of an empty space, anyway. "Shall we? I think I can get us down there."

Hali raised her hands and shook them. "That was my idea, once."

"And I guess it turned out badly for you," Pohatu said.

"Well, not bad enough to kill me, obviously. But the area isn't stable. The Tiro River doesn't stay above ground. See, it follows a natural cave underground, one very close to here. The other end opens up into the Korio Mahi, which hasn't been maintained. So, there could be a lot of flooding. I know there was a rising water level when explored it last time."

"How long will it take for us to reach the harbor up here? If we aren't going to live long enough before we die of thirst, I say we take our chances. I mean, hey, at least there's water down in the Korio," Pohatu reasoned.

Hali put a finger to her mouth and looked up at the darkening sky. "Well… I guess, if we need to, you can break into one of the passages and see if we can fetch water from there. We should stay above ground if we want to travel, since I don't know the way down there."

"Ah, good point," Pohatu said, flexing his fingers. "Okay, move up to the top of that sand dune. I don't want you getting caught up in this while I dig. And keep a lookout," Pohatu added.

"For what," she asked as she climbed back up the dune. She searched about. She knew the Toa had sensed something with his incredible senses. What was he, a professed newcomer to the island, detecting that she could not?

"For whatever you might spot," Pohatu replied with a shrug and a laugh. Then he turned his attention back on the sand.

And he realized then and there that he had a problem.

He tried anyway. Raising his hands, he commanded the sand to disperse and carve out a deep excavation to the bedrock. A few grains picked themselves up and danced in a little circle. He focused with greater effort, letting his power drizzle down into the sand from his palm. Something like mist wafted lazily to the ground. Particles of sand rose and swirled together into a dust devil. It rose higher and higher, until at last it reached his… knees.

Pohatu sighed and let his hand drop. The sand resettled. Onewa's ominous words swelled up in his mind unbidden. _You are a Toa of Stone, not Earth. Your strength lies in individuality, in exclusion, not inclusion. Each stone is yours to shape as you see fit. One at a time._

 _So I can't dig very well. That's ridiculous. I should be able to do something about this, easy._

"Is something wrong, Pohatu?" Hali's voice called from up and behind him.

"No," Pohatu assured her, and went back to muttering at the sand between his feet. This _was_ ridiculous. Surely he, a Toa of Stone, could move what amounted to a bunch of little rocks!

He flexed his power, he suffused himself with his power, and then the sand with it. He tossed, threw, poked, stabbed, surged and frenzied. The harder he tried, the more hungry he got, and angry. Exhaustion crept in unawares. Surprised, he found himself panting, and felt a snarl coming on. He kicked the sand, and then started over.

Straining, Pohatu released his power over the stone throughout the sand trough, and up the side of the next dune. He filled those spaces, learned everything about them—which was nothing but an indistinct haze of granules—and lifted, spread, swirled and then smashed.

All this to no avail, for the sand remained where it was.

So he tried again, though daunted. And the harder he tried, and the more he strove in mounting fury, the less control he seemed to have. The dunes hummed and crackled with silver bolts of intensifying elemental energy. Sand broke into fine dust and rose into the air like smoke. Weak dust devils whirled up and then sifted down their grains, and the sand shifted in one place or other, wherever Pohatu's eyes roamed in anger.

 _I'm a failure,_ Pohatu told himself, watching his powers run amok. All he wanted was to dig in the sand! It wasn't like he was asking for a mountain to move. _I don't get it. I do, but I don't want to get it. Why did the old one have to be right?_ Pohatu could not fathom any other method he hadn't already tried. But, he wouldn't admit defeat yet. He had an audience. And he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Hali in disappointment after such a pathetic demonstration.

"Wow, this is so exciting," Hali was muttering up at the top of the dune.

She wrote down her observations on her scribe cube with gusto. The Toa of Stone was about to save them both from wasting to a dry death in the hostile Motara by moving almost a hundred kios of sand! "So exciting. The sand is smoking and making sounds of the storm. It's like watching something from the fireside burst into reality from amidst the flames. Wondrous, fascinating. I'm watching the first steps to a great history!"

She was almost to the point of kicking the ground in glee. She just could not contain herself to see what happened next. And, to think, she was still not over the thrill of racing with Pohatu from the wrath of the Makikona. Would the wonders ever cease? No, they would continue to grow more overwhelming from now on, she was sure.

The sun lay half-hidden below the horizon. Shadows of twilight advanced. And nothing so far had changed.

To Hali's confusion, Pohatu got up from where he squatted and came marching up the dune, disgust in his every motion. And his eyes danced amber with displeasure.

"Oh, I—umn," Hali fumbled out, looking down at her cube in shame. Clearly, Pohatu didn't enjoy being chronicled. He was a lot like certain Matoran in that regard. "I apologize, I didn't mean to break your concentration." She slipped her scribe cube into her suva. "See? Gone."

Pohatu said nothing and stalked past Hali. He waved for her to follow.

"Wait, where are we going," Hali asked, hopping and scuttling after him. "Toa Pohatu?"

"I quit. I don't think I'm cut out for sand work. We'll go to another spot at the river for water, since it's close, and follow it until we reach wherever you want to cross." He glanced toward the sun, catching a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye. But when he turned his face he saw no sign of what it could have been. _Did it slip down below another dune, or am I starting to see mirages?_

"Wait, wait, wait. What about the sand excavation? Why are we leaving now?" Hali cried, throwing up her hands. "You can't quit now!"

"I don't have much choice," Pohatu replied with a hapless display of empty hands. "I tried everything I could think of. If I don't stop now, I won't have the energy to run, not without eating again. I don't intend for us to face the same shortage of food as we do water, so…" He felt sudden anticipation like cold water splashing him in the face. It came from everywhere.

"Well, but, maybe," Hali stammered, feeling shock taking hold.

"Considered, tried, tested," Pohatu said. "I'm sorry, Hali." His eyes roved across the tops of the dunes, his instincts alert and usurping control.

There came a rushing sound.

Hali cried out. Pohatu turned to see the Matoran lying flat on her mask, a river of sand rushing over her. Pohatu heard himself laughing, even though his mouth was closed. Then the sand swept into him as well.

The rushing turned into a powerful hiss, or whisper, as the trough in which he'd been standing fell, turning into a deepening bowl. The sand dunes melted into the depression. Even as they diminished the depression grew. The current of sand forced both Pohatu and Hali into its flow, dragging them ever closer to the sand trap.

Pohatu looked on with dismay as the spot where he'd been standing vanished into the swirling sand vortex. How in the world was this happening now? He raised his hands to quell the madness, and instead met nothing. It was as if the desert was under the spell of some other's will than his own. He almost started laughing in relief, despite the self-inflicted peril. So he _did_ have it in him! _I can stop this, I know I can. Gotta be calm, casual. Precise._ He winced. _Right. How about "careful" as a synonym?_

"Toa Pohatu," Hali screamed. Her voice cut off as the sand dragged her under.

"Hold on," Pohatu shouted. He thrust his hands before him and then spread them, parting the sand before him, even as he kicked with his legs. Speed, he needed to reach her fast, they were sliding fast now, and the depression was now deepening into a pit—Kakama obeyed. In two strokes he reached Hali, and got his powerful fingers around her arm. He clamped as hard as he could, sensing a current in the sand trying to force them apart. The sand drain wailed for them in a hollow voice, as if begging for their bodies to fill its belly.

A shadow blanketed the two struggling Bionicle.

Pohatu looked up, and then looked over at Hali. Their wild eyes met in a shared moment of amazement, and fear, and then they looked up again. Waves, or perhaps walls, of sand reached for the sky above them like jaws closing, eclipsing the falling sun and much of the sky. Their little skylight shrank as the sand connected. Then, right after the light vanished, a dim remnant returned, allowing them to just make out the avalanche of sand crashing atop them. It roared in their ears. And the drain right next to them screamed back in answer.

Up and down switched places in a wild spin amidst the tumble that followed. The soft roar of falling sand turned into a deeper rumble. The hot desert air slipped past Pohatu and Hali's limbs as it gave them over to the chill clutch of the world below. Suffocating weight piled on as the desert buried them alive.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

From atop a stable dune, a figure stood watch over the sand trap. Back to the sun, he was a black silhouette, much like a shadow taken from the ground or wall and propped upright. The orange eyes of the figure matched the sky, but burned with mirth. It cast no shadow of its own upon the sands.

The sand reached the climax of its unnatural event, the swirl going from fluid to a solid spiral formation in the space of a breath, like it were a whirlpool flash-frozen.

A satisfied chuckle escaped the shadow, and then it faded into thin air.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

" _Blck,"_ Hali hacked. Her head poked out from beneath the sand and spat a cluster of grit. Still coughing and hacking, she battled her way through the unmoving swells of sand until she met cold, open air. stumbling, she came to rest on her hands and knees.

Behind the Ga-Matoran, Pohatu released a shout and parted the sand about him in a small geyser of sand. He wormed his way out atop the pile and then slid down the embankment to where Hali rested. He glanced around. They were standing in a broad passage cut of buff colored stone. The rear of the passage was clogged by the sand that almost entombed them. It appeared stable, now, as if it had been there for ages unmoving.

"Are you alright," Pohatu asked in a gentle voice, patting Hali on the shoulder. He felt a ping of embarrassment and shame. He could have killed the poor Matoran with that accident.

Hali nodded, and took a few more moments to catch her breath. Then, she sprang up and spun to look at the sand. "Wow! You were incredible, Mighty Pohatu! I must catalogue this." She brought out her cube and scurried down the other end of the passage, where a pair of oblong glowstones grew along the borders of the archway. Another passage was visible beyond their yellow light.

"Wait," Pohatu said, reaching out a hand. He hurried after her. "Look, I don't know if this is the time for that."

"It has to be. I don't dare miss a single detail," Hali gushed, scribing with two furious fingers. "You were unbelievable. That was even greater than running like the wind from the Makikona," she gushed. If she weren't writing it all down, she'd have been babbling about it like a lunatic.

"I… guess I was," Pohatu muttered. He looked back up at the top of the sand wall, and pondered. _Hmm. That certainly seemed like the result of my work, didn't it? Then why does it feel… off?_ Shaking his head, Pohatu turned to go explore around the corners.

Poking his head out, Pohatu peered to the right, and then the left. The right passage continued on into the blackness. A cool breeze whispered to him from that way. And he tasted a promising dampness in the air. That was when he realized there was a promising dampness at his feet. Water had been flowing in the passageway in recent days, or even hours. The left way turned to the left again, so he could see little of what lay that way.

Pohatu went for the left passage, eyes and senses probing the walls for weakness in the stone. _Good. It doesn't feel like these passages will collapse on us soon. The stonework is nice. I even see some stylistic stuff up in the corners of the wall. Or is that writing?_ He was sure it was Matoran of some sort— _of a sort._ It looked a bit different, and involved lots of long hyphens and dashes to connect those weird circle symbols. He had no clue what they said, though he noticed the glyphs for 1#, 2 and 4 pop up from time to time.

The other end of the passage made yet another sharp turn to the right. From there, Pohatu found he could see no further. It might keep on zigzagging into the dark, it might go straight ahead. He wouldn't be able to tell until he acquired some light.

Retreating, Pohatu found Hali still busy about her chronicling work. He waited. Hali continued to write. After counting off a good ten minutes, Pohatu cleared his throat.

"Ah! Sorry," Hali said, bowing in apology. She slipped the scribe cube back into her suva. "I'm afraid I get carried away. What did you discover, Mighty Pohatu?"

"Please, I don't think I can be called mighty for getting us swallowed by my own element." Pohatu chuckled at that and the possibilities involved. "Hahah. You know, I'd like to see what kind of mistakes the other Toa have made practicing. We're going to have all kinds of stories to tell."

"It wasn't all that bad, Toa Pohatu," Hali assured. "I don't intend to write this as a comedy, unless you _want_ me to."

Pohatu shrugged and smiled. "Well, whatever works best for you, Chronicler. Well, if you're done, could you help me figure out where we are?"

"The Korio Mahi I assume," Hali answered, running her eyes up and down the walls in search of some indication. "The real question is, where in the Korio Mahi?" she grabbed one of the overgrown light crystals and tugged, breaking off a piece to use as a light. She stepped out into the next passage and beckoned for Pohatu to follow. "I think I see some stuff on the walls."

"I noticed too. I, uh, haven't had much time to learn your script yet," Pohatu reminded her.

"I can help with that," Hali said with a smile. "Can you lift me up there," she asked, pointing at the ceiling. "It's high up, and my light isn't reaching far enough."

"Sure thing," Pohatu replied.

While held in the air by Pohatu, Hali extended her light and examined the script. After a few minutes, she signaled for him to put her down.

"Learn anything," Pohatu asked, eager for direction. He set her back to the damp floor. "I don't think we can get back up the way we came. Chances are high I would bury us again before I figured out how to make smooth work of it."

Hali looked down at the floor to compose her thoughts, and then looked back at Pohatu. "Unfortunately," she said, taking in a breath, "not much. The script up there is for crafters and workers. Might be even the Assembler is supposed to read them, or they had one here."

"You mean they're hard to translate, or are just useless?"

"Both, in all likelihood," Hali said. "That's my take. I see numbers, and references to the passages. Truth be told, it's an old dialect we don't use now. This place is ancient, dating back circa 900 years, perhaps. I can get the gist of what's being said in regular writing I'm meant to read. In no way is the stuff up there on the wall corners meant to be read by a casual observer. It's too technical."

"Frustrating, I know," Pohatu said, glaring up at the scribbles. "It's never easy, is it?"

"I find it fascinating," Hali confessed. "This is what makes exploring fun."

"That's a good way to look at it," Pohatu said. "I'd agree, if not that I would prefer to know a way out before doing any exploring deeper."

Hali grinned. "If we don't know where to go, then we can find out on the way." She raised her light above her and started down the right side of the corridor. "I think we should follow it this way. The other path will probably lead deeper into the desert, or back to the center of the Korio Mahi. That won't help us and we have a higher chance of getting caught underwater."

"Good call," Pohatu said, glancing behind them at the zigzagging route with a frown. "Alright, Hali, lead the way."

"If you insist," Hali said, her voice filled with relish for the unknown.

Side by side, they marched into the darkness in search of water, and a way out.


	12. Dry Blues I

_10, 9, 8, 7…_

Pohatu and Hali's feet clunked against the damp stone. Seven strips of tile pulled at them to follow the trails deeper into the darkness, the lines of the strips were colored turquoise and rippled like waves. _So thirsty. Water would be nice if that's what these lines are heading to. It could be bad too, if that water's rushing to meet_ us _. No. Focus._

6, 5, 4, 3…

For 10,000 steps until now, Pohatu and Hali followed the straight road. Their only pause had been to stop and eat at an intersection. Weary and exhausted, Pohatu had desired to lie down and rest, but Hali refused, insisting they couldn't allow themselves to doze off yet. Joints creaking, Pohatu pulled himself up and followed after the stalwart Ga-Matoran.

It grew less damp as they progressed. Hali seemed more sure of the way as they went, insisting she'd actually followed this particular road before. The end came out at the harbor, their destination, she explained.

…2, 1.

Pohatu kept his attention on his counts, restarting from 10, and adding 10 to the steps calculated until this point. It was a trick Onewa suggested. An exercise in observation. Toa of Stone had to be observant, so he'd said. Pohatu didn't find it bad advice underground. Knowing how far they'd walked could help, especially if the light for some reason went out in Hali's hand.

 _8, 7, 6…_

They'd reached a couple intersections and what looked like strange enclosed passages zigzagging at sharp angles across the ceiling. Some dipped to spear the passage floor or cut right through both walls.

 _10, 9, 8, 7, 6…_

"This way," Hali said.

The Matoran led Pohatu into a side corridor that canted upward for a time, and then moved down. A stone door once blocked the end of this passage, but it had long been broken. Fragments of metal and weapons lay scattered about, and Pohatu noticed what looked like the remains of some kind of Rahi. He recoiled from the five-legged corpse. It looked hollow and ghastly, lying in a pile of its own maroon rust, a wicked, barbed tail snaking away from it like a serpent.

"A little Jaga," Hali said, walking past the scorpion without more than a glance. Her voice grew hushed, subdued.

Out the other side of the door Hali's mood transformed. So profound was it that Pohatu almost thought she'd become someone else. Her glowstone slipped from her fingers on three separate occasions. She stared into the corridor with an absent expression, and turned her eyes now and again to scan a side passage or door. Her fingers, despite that her arms sagged in noticeable weariness, twitched or jerked with intensity.

"Battles," she murmured, sidestepping what Pohatu thought looked like the torso section of a Matoran, though it had a strange, almost Rahi-like skull. Rust scourged its outer armor skin.

"Must have been a bad one. You said your people lost this place. Did the… Jaga, overrun it, Hali?"

She shrugged. "The records say so, along with other Rahi. I wasn't born at the time, but we did come exploring to find out more about the Korio Mahi."

"You seemed glad for a second chance, a few hours ago," Pohatu noted. "Did you not encounter this site before?"

Hali almost halted and peered at a blue mask lying on the ground nearby. It looked like Pohatu's. She blinked after a few minutes of staring and started walking on again.

"Hali, are you alright?"

"Of course, I'm only distracted!" she turned and gave him a smile radiant with false sincerity. "I'm looking for loot. So sad that most is either rusted or taken." She winked.

 _You're looking for something, sure. Just not loot. You're suva's full._

 _She seemed conflicted about coming down here,_ Pohatu thought, thinking back. She had mentioned the Korio Mahi tunnels first, and then redacted the suggestion. If she didn't want to travel by the ruins, why bother saying anything? Perhaps she'd been brainstorming for water? _We haven't found so much as a drop down here._

"How far are we to the river," Pohatu asked. His throat was becoming increasingly parched. And his limbs ached, demanding liquid.

"Not far."

They walked on in silence, passing under a big archway carved into the likeness of some kind of strange Rahi without arms or legs. Instead they had silly looking triangular things on their sides and tails. _Fish._ A word appeared in his mind. _Those are fish._

The fish formed a bubbly archway. It was impressive craftsmanship.

Beyond, they continued into a wider hall that greeted them with the echoes of their footsteps and a low, distant whisper. That distant noise reminded Pohatu of the muted roar of the sea wind in Po-Koro. _There's water down there somewhere,_ he guessed, peering into the black, square pit of the room. He looked back to see Hali still walking on without paying the slightest attention to him. He followed her onto a narrow walk of stone that spanned the abyssal hall. Tapping the rock with his foot, he inspected the stone for weakness. The H-shaped slabs were connected by square blocks, and felt quite solid, almost fused as if from one single piece. He hurried after the Ga-Matoran, who was moving ahead at a quick pace.

"Don't go silent and stiff on me, Hali. That's what the Po-Matoran ghosties do," Pohatu joked.

She nodded and kept right on walking, entering into the darkened corridor on the other side of the hall. She paused, as if trying to decide which way to go. The corridor branched into two. One way bore left, the other right and up a flight of stairs stylized to resemble waves.

Hali started walking to the left-hand way, but stopped herself and hesitated. She put a finger to her mouth, and then turned toward the stairs. "It's not far," she assured. "Almost got mixed up."

 _You seemed more like you were trying to make a decision about something._ Pohatu exhaled inwardly. Ever since waking up, he'd been surrounded by mysterious beings. Could he not find a single Bionicle in the world who valued honesty? He just didn't see the point in keeping secrets from one another. That wasn't fair, or right. And it was eating as his patience like a parasite. It didn't appear to be one of the glorious "Three Virtues", so maybe that was the Matoran problem, they didn't understand the concept of trust! _It sure doesn't fall under "Unity". Or if it is, they're not acting like it._

At the top of the stairs, another tunnel loomed, this one angling downward at a steady rate. A formidable metal gate barred the end of the tunnel, but Hali turned aside to a hidden passage set in the almost seamless wall of stone. It zigzagged for a while until it at last came out on the other end of the metal barrier. Light filled the cracks in the exit door as Hali pushed it open. They stepped out into light.

"We were down there all evening," Pohatu realized, staring at the morning sunshine reflecting off the pale stone.

Hali scampered ahead, with Pohatu one step behind. The mouth of the corridor emptied onto a semi-circular plaza, dominated by six mighty pillars carved to resemble whirling dust clouds. They'd spotted a few in the distance on the second day. Pohatu admired the ferocity at a distance. Up close, the stone replicas forced him to consider the power of the Wind.

With the bright face of Uranga Rehua shining in their faces, Hali and Pohatu moved to stand within one of the pillars' great shadows, which stretched out to form undulating bars over the sloping forehead of the rocks above them. Trails of sand siphoned down from the top of the elevation, indicating the desert above was trying to fill the great gap.

And what a gap it was! Pohatu squinted as he peered out over the edge of the plaza. A deep, deep canyon spread out before them to their left. It stretched southward into the distance. He saw an abundance of sand atop the walls. Clumps piled in high clumps on numerous shelves in the canyon's side.

Hali hurried to the edge of the plaza, so Pohatu followed, dodging potshard-like pieces of stone littering the plaza. It looked like a giant bowl had been dropped there. He glanced up at the pillars, and assumed the rubble was part of a dome roof. _Explains the pillars,_ he guessed.

They ambled down a long series of amphitheater-like steps to another level of the harbor about fifty feet down. At its end, another plaza spread out on a crescent shelf. Openings appeared in the sides of the canyon wall, all of them sealed up with metal doors depicting Matoran script and some stylized pictures of a flowing river.

"This… doesn't look like a hidden Harbor," Pohatu said, looking around. There were docks similar to those he'd seen in Po-Koro, all sticking out like the fingers of a hand at the end of the plaza. "Where's the water?"

"You can't spot it from above," Hali said, her voice absent her attention as she hurried to the docks. She raced along one of the piers.

"What do you see," Pohatu asked, catching up a half-breath later. He looked down. "Oh."

Far below, many feet down, a tiny ribbon of dark blue wound its way through the smooth, rippling bowels of the canyon. It was divided up like a twisting maze of small canyons, all formed of rock colored in red and orange shaded strata. It seemed to go like that until the ribbon of water rounded a bend far ahead.

Pohatu and Hali turned to regard the Korio Mahi dam. It rose high above, an impregnable wall of yellowed stone, the symbol of Po-Koro etched onto its seamless surface. Broken battlements at its peak grinned at them like the lower half of a Makikona's jaw.

At the base of the dam, the ribbon disappeared into an opening that ran almost the full length of the great structure. Peering closer, Pohatu at last made out lateral breaks in the stone, two starting on each side of the structure. They met in the center of the dam, and it became clear to him that these were removable barriers. He supposed that, should the dam keepers desire, more water could be released by pulling the blocks apart, one tier at a time. It seemed the entire dam was made of about thirty of these sections, 60 counting both halves, stacked atop one another.

"Those should be open," Hali said. "We close them sometimes if the water level gets too low, but… I've never seen it _this bad._ And if it were dried up, that last sluice seal should be closed, not open."

"What do you make of it," Pohatu asked.

Hali frowned and thought about it for a span. "Hmm. It wasn't like this when I was here last. The Harbor is abandoned and sealed up."

"Figure out what that means for us. I'm going down to fill our containers with water," Pohatu said, searching about the rocks below the pier for a handhold.

"Wait!" Hali screamed, reaching out her hand. Her voice multiplied across the canyon.

Pohatu stood perfectly still, save his head, which darted about as he searched for what had upset her. Then, he laughed. "H-Hali, please. It's a rock face. I'll be more than fine."

"O-oh. Well, don't blame me if you break your neck," she snapped, turning to the side and folding her arms.

He noticed how they shook. "What's wrong," he ordered, his voice as firm as the rock under their feet.

"J-just go. I'm having trouble believing the dam could keep back the whole river. It might burst and flashflood the riverbed."

Pohatu blinked a few times, his heart skipping a beat. "I'll hurry," he said, and dropped over the edge, trusting to his climbing skills. They felt instinctual.

He spun several times, leveled so his head pointed toward the ground, and then flipped upright and snagged a perfect finger hold. _Haha,_ he laughed inside his head. _I_ was _born for rock climbing!_ Never had he felt such joy. His feet itched, unable to wait for their first touch of toe-hold. He could sense them, only about a few feet below where he hung.

Up on the ledge, Hali shut her eyes as Pohatu jumped. She cringed as she heard the small noise of a body falling through the air, and then the nothingness afterward. It horrified her. The echoes in the valley, far greater now that it wasn't half flooded, turned even the small sound of Pohatu's grunt as he jumped into a reverberation. She crouched down and squeezed her eyes shut, _harder._

 _"_ _SISTER!"_

 _"_ _Calm down, can't take a little competition?"_

 _Hali looked up. The memory fussed over reality, like one of those chalk paintings some Matoran liked making, the ones that turned to impressionistic pieces of art once they got wet. Vhisola always hated those kinds of watercolors. Hali agreed. They were surreal._

 _She supposed it an appropriate irony that the memories of Vhisola were like a blurry watercolor of reality._

 _The other Ga-Matoran stood with her dark armor fading into her silver-grey Komau. She smiled. Hali smiled back, or tried, though she still felt terrible._

 _"_ _You take things too far, Sister," Hali insisted, frantic, dropping into the memory, replaying it exactly as it had gone, trying to somehow quench that thirst for consolation that none of it was her fault. This time._

 _"_ _If you can leap off_ Gaku Cliff _then I can't leave the challenge unmet! You watch, little Sister, I'll see you washed out yet. That'll teach you to take light of this old chronicler!"_

 _"_ _No, Vhisola, wait," Hali stammered, holding out her hands, fingers stretched. Rain pelted them both in droves. It felt as cold as ice darts after suffering the heat of the Motara for_ days _to get here, to this old, unused harbor. And there were hunters in the water with colder hearts._

 _She looked down at the rapids, so terrible and fierce. Granted, there weren't any rocks at the bottom Vhisola's dive could reach, unlike the infamous Gaku Cliff._

 _Also known as Taker-of-Braves, and Breaker of the Breakers, for its vicious rip-tides, tidal waves and sharp rocks at the bottom that could shred the mightiest of beasts, Gaku Cliff was no safe spot._

 _The Matoran dead from trying to land perfect dives at this spot of spots, this terrible legacy of Makuta's most dangerous-fun trap? Countless. Of course, Hali had somehow survived the jump. Ten times. For fun._

 _"_ _It doesn't mean you have to top me, Sister! I take it back, we can go back and try the Gaku again." Vhisola had emerged alive from the Breaker of Breakers four times in a row, all while insisting Hali witness it. That was never enough for Vhisola._

 _"_ _We both know there's a trick to getting out alive from under Gaku's Cliff," she shouted over the canyon's musical voice. The winds of the storm drew it breath. And it shrieked a storm's piercing song. "This place is a raging deathtrap! There are no secret methods of survival!"_

 _Perfect arguments never seemed to work._

 _"_ _For the Tides of the Tribe!" Vhisola back-flipped, elegant yet full of strength, a leap to make a Le-Matoran acrobat-dancer weep._

"Idiot, imbecile, you should listen to me once in a while," Hali said, staring out over the edge of the pier, simmering so bad it was a miracle she didn't turn to steam and disappear into the air. _You should have caught her. That might have killed her!_

"'Hey, Pohatu, thanks so much for the water I could never have climbed down on my own and gotten. You really saved me from thirsting to death'," Pohatu said, raising his voice as high as it would go. The sound seemed to sicken Hali. He didn't blame her. It sickened him as well. _I promise us all never to do that again,_ Pohatu swore inside his mind.

"Uh, ah, you're fast," Hali said, blinking a few times. "And reckless." She snatched at the water canister he proffered, but failed as he pulled it out of reach. "If I have to, I could have gotten it myself. I'm the fastest Ga-Koro climber," she said.

"I take offense," Pohatu said, looking at her side-long. "I expect a thank you for my timely service."

"I meant to offend," she said sweetly, and jumped, surprising Pohatu, who couldn't just let her fly past him over the edge.

 _Crazy Matoran,_ he thought, grabbing her with his arms.

The Toa's refusal to let her die cost him the water, which she snagged from his hand with the speed of a snapping viper.

One had to be fast on Mata Nui if one wished to live on Mata Nui. That had been one of Vhisola's proverbs. _Ouch, heart-pangs. Can't think of the proverbs._ The proverbs were missing! _When did I last search for them?_ Years. Not since she officially took up Chronicling for Ga-Koro.

"Hah," Hali said, spinning the gear stopper open and dumping the water into her mouth. So clean, so sanctified, flowing abundance! Moana Poi's dominant element! "Water!" she gasped, falling onto her back in bliss, and relief. She'd not realized how close to passing out she'd come. "Thank you. Pohatu. I don't think. I could do it without. Can't breathe. Was too thirsty."

"There's more, and we can refill," Pohatu assured, taking another drink of his own from his Toa-suva.

And he did just that, several times. Hours drifted by. The morning stretched to midday, and the sun grew quite dominant and hot again. The dried river canyon had been cool before. Now it transformed into a heat trap. Then again, it _was_ still part of the Motara. Everything burned beneath Uranga Rehua here.

"Perhaps it evaporated," Pohatu said, letting out a breath, and wishing he _had_ found the Toa of Ice. An Ice Toa would become the greatest hero a desert ever had.

"No, afraid not," Hali replied, pointing at the Korio Mahi. "I don't understand what, Toa Pohatu, but something happened inside. We need to unstop it if we want a way down the canyon."

"Right." Pohatu started stretching. "Tell me when you're ready. Or do you want me to check inside by myself?"

Hali looked up from studying the clouds. They looked dark away toward the south, like the remnants from a cyclone from Le-Wahi. But that was irregular in the extreme. "Hmm? I'm sorry, why would I stay here?"

"You, uh, might make _me_ feel better," Pohatu said, touching his chest. "Not that I'm the most sensitive things. It's only, you didn't seem to enjoy the end of that trip. There are probably signs of more battles in there."

"It's fine. I've remembered all things I need to do. Duty and all that," Hali said, sitting up and dusting herself off. She started back up the plaza stairs. "Come, come. Better late than never!"

"It's your duty? I don't think an old ruin like this qualifies, little friend," Pohatu said.

"It's more like Destiny," she muttered, and scurried up the steps faster. 'Besides, you could get lost in there. Forever."

Pohatu put one foot on the stairs and then stopped, looking up at her. He let out a huff. "Destiny," he mouthed, and rolled his eyes with a flash.

Chill, uncertainty, disgust, the hard-heartedness of stone.

Despite his constant awareness, Pohatu felt the sensations come and go without warning. He looked around. Nothing seemed to be happening. He released his powers, channeling them through the rocks, feeling an alien, yet familiar, willpower there. It was like with the sand. _I better stop._ So, he stopped channeling out power, and hoped for the best. Still, he felt a sudden relief that Hali was making tracks at top-scurry. _Something is very wrong. Could it be… Makuta?_

He felt hot breath at the back of his neck. But he didn't _sense_ anyone's weight on the stones behind him. What did it mean? What was happening? Was he going mad? He spun kicked! The air _whooshed._ He kept his leg poised, luring a potential, useable foe to try and trip him. Nothing tried it.

"What are you doing," Hali called, looking down in confusion from the upper plaza.

"Uh," Pohatu stalled, leg making a spear toward the sky. "Testing my leg-joint!" he replied, raising a thick finger. "I felt I should, you know, in case it isn't healed yet." He put his foot down and hurried up after her, hoping his Mask wouldn't shift to display his embarrassment.

"Whatever saves you air," Hali said with a shrug as she turned around, and started across the plaza.

"Saves me air?" Pohatu repeated, tilting his head.

At the hidden entryway, Pohatu heard a crack behind him. Turning, he saw no visible sign of trouble.

Hali led the way, and Pohatu followed her into the humid cool of the passage. It was welcoming to escape the glare of the sun, which was a foe to them after having suffered in its heat with thirst gnawing on their throats.

Pohatu shut the door behind them, and then used his power to seal it. As he did so, there came an awful tremor. Dead still, they both listened and felt a distant rush and clatter noise. It drew closer and closer until Pohatu and Hali decided to go deeper. Whatever was happening outside, it couldn't be good.

The zigzagging tunnel soon turned into a nightmare. Fractures wounded the walls and ceiling. Groaning, pieces of ceiling broke free and started to dissolve into dust that sifted down in frantic madness. In Hali's light, the stone looked almost like gold dust. And then there was a terrible silence.

Reaching the other side of the metal barrier, the two of them felt like speaking again.

"What was that," Hali asked.

"Let me say this, I don't think I was responsible for that sand trap," Pohatu said, and turned to regard the large metal door blocking the main passage to the plaza. As he watched, rust formed on its outer edges and began to work inward. "Hang on tight!"

Snatching Hali, he dashed for the wave stair. Behind them, the corridor unleashed a thunderous roar, as if frustrated at their escape. Massive junks of rock fell in a violent fit of sound and tremors, shaking the entire corridor until Pohatu's vision of it blurred into overlapping triplets. Behind them, the ceiling fell after them, and the rock above that pulverized the blocks, one after the other. _Boom, boom, boom._

Making a flying leap, Pohatu sailed high over the stairs, hit the far wall and kicked off of it with his feet, propelling himself back into the lower parts of the stair, where he kicked off again, hurtling down the passage toward the abyssal hall, Hali screaming under one arm. Behind, the wave stair rippled, turning to flowing stone-water for one second. The next, it dissolved into a spray of sand-foam, scouring the walls, which shook, cracked like chapped, rain-deprived mud, but held firm.

Pohatu skidded to a stop, digging his feet into the floor, which gladly yielded to his feet. He tore out stone as he went, building up a nice, knee-high roadhump before his skid ended right in front of the fork in the road. Steam rose from the soles of his feet, and he felt a wince of pain. Speed burns? He'd never had those crossing the sand! _One thing to be thankful for about the stuff,_ he guessed. But, the burn sensation disappeared almost at once. Kakama offered defense against nature's vengeful enforcement of its laws, if only he learned to master the Mask's use.

Smiling, Pohatu stood up, put Hali down and started into the left-hand passage. "This way, right? Let me check ahead. I'm worried about this route. There's something ominous about it."

Still dazed, Hali stared at the buried segment of the Korio Mahi, unable to grasp at once what had just happened. Shaking her head, she too stood and hurried after Pohatu. "Wait, what was that cave-in! And you were amazing! Must write—later, of course, later. Focus Hali. Toa Pohatu, what happened back there?"

"It wasn't me," he assured her with a grim frown. "I don't think. Something is… stealing my power."

"Stealing?"

"Abducting it. Usurping me. The Elemental strength flows into the stone, and it then does what I ordered. Something else is giving it new commands, and blocking me out."

Hali stopped dead. "That's… that's impossible! Right? Please tell me it isn't possible."

"You tell me, Hali, my friend. I only woke up weeks ago. How possible is anything?" he threw up his hands and then let them fall with a sigh. He halted, going so far into the darkness as he dared without light. His feet detected a clear path ahead. They also sensed presence of various branch-offs.

He was standing blind before the mouth of a maze.

"Sometimes I feel like I never woke up," he whispered.

"I know what you mean, I think," Hali said in a quiet voice as she walked past him. "I'll lead the way. We should get far away from here, if some evil resists your authority over Stone."

"Yeah, you said it," Pohatu replied, glancing back and squinting through the angular slits of his Mask. He sensed no presence watching, no danger. Only his own frustration, his own bitter confusion and anger inside for not knowing what was out there. Perhaps that was the cause? Precision and control Onewa did obsess upon. Perhaps there was reason to do so for their brand of abilities.

He chiseled down his thoughts on a cube in his mind. He didn't have one to put into his suva, but he could easily create a stone in his head and keep it there. He needed some useful things to remember, after all, to help push the bad dreams _out._

"Toa Pohatu," Hali called, waving the yellow glowstone over her head. "To the right. We should try to move that way and reach the dam center."

Nodding, he followed after her, noticing how she already seemed absent-minded. She kept glancing around her, as if she'd lost her Mask somewhere nearby. He rubbed his chin, and decided to keep an eye on the nooks and crannies for something interesting.

Who knew? Maybe she _had_ lost something important in the Korio Mahi. Or perhaps she was just being her curious self. _I always thought she was a more "normal" Matoran. I'm not so sure if there_ is _such a thing. What are the other Matoran like? Are they all this eccentric? Well, I don't mind eccentric._ He thought of the dream from Onewa, and questioned if perhaps it was a warning about all Matoran, or only certain ones. _Ahkmou. He's the one with the dagger, I'm certain. Hali is fine. Heh, it's probably me who's weird. I only woke up recently, after all. What marks will I bear in a hundred years?_ Food for thought. He probably would be surprised to see himself.

Hali continued to lead Pohatu downward, passing into several intersections that branched off into other directions. These were still well lit by light crystals fashioned into the shape of hundred-petaled sunflowers. A few of these suffered from crystal growths of varying shades and color. Hali claimed she knew the way, but Pohatu didn't like the distraction that ruled her now.

They kept going, with Hali growing increasingly bewildered, until at last she gave up. "Sorry, Pohatu," she said, turning to look at him in a sheepish manner. "I think we took a wrong turn."

They stood in another intersection; this one seemed to have a dustier atmosphere, as if it were ages since someone graced it with their presence. And the light was almost eaten upon by a palisade of crystal growths.

"Oh, look," Hali said, brightening. It was the first time she'd perked up since the cave-in. She hurried over to a socket in an intersection wall.

Pohatu stood behind her and leaned down to inspect the socket. There were lots of these on each wall at the intersections, but they'd been empty. This one, however, was filled with a sphere of dark brown crystal, with a black metal compass set within. It pointed the way north, south east and west with dark spikes.

"I thought most of these had been taken," Hali said, reaching out to tap the crystal. "We should leave it, I guess."

With the compass, Hali now realized where she'd taken a wrong turn. They needed to head north, and then down and east until they hit the upper floor.

The way was uneventful, save that the distant rumble of great waters muttered at them, like earthquakes strategizing with one another about their next attack upon the surface.

Pohatu felt it through the floor.

The walls, the ceiling, even the wet air shivered with the ebbing flow of the distant floods. He could feel the sheer power of the vast complex, now, and the ambition of the mind behind its construction. If he had not so much trust in the natural sturdiness of stonework, Pohatu wouldn't have chanced going so far down into the abandoned place. Some forces could not be controlled. He fought down panic when he remembered the dangerous forces surrounding his powers. If whatever it was attacked them here, they could be looking toward a _very_ action-filled trip down to Ga-Koro.

Along with the entire dam.

A strange, consistent music greeted them as Pohatu rolled a big stone door aside. They stepped through, and with a wet gurgling of water the stone rolled back on its own. Pohatu glanced back, and stretched out with his ripple sense. The floor shook under his feet as tile blocks danced, tickled by his power, but resettled.

There were holes running through the walls, ceiling and floor. He could tell, somehow, that water ran through these canals.

Deeper inside, the light increased from glowstone rings on the ceiling and floor. Inside these rings, the steady clink of gears hissed and spun in a dance of tireless precision. Pohatu sniffed. It smelled of Onewa's mind.

Standing in the center of the room, Pohatu let himself listen to the clinking. He heard, far off, the voice of water—or something related—rising to a fading crescendo, almost like music.

"Strange," Hali said, waddling up beside Pohatu's leg. She glanced around with a more alert scowl. "The waterworks. They're flowing."

"Isn't that what the water trapped in here should do," Pohatu asked.

Hali shook her head. "No." She led him to a semi-circular indention in the center of the northern wall. There was torus-shaped platform in the center. A big pillar painted amber and sapphire rose through the hole. "The water should not be running through the Korio. If it is, then there probably won't be much flooding. Is someone draining it?"

Pohatu tapped the torus. It shifted in a very lightweight fashion that was not common to any other stone he'd ever witnessed. "What does that mean for us getting out of here?"

"Great, actually. A stroke of luck," Hali said. "It means the areas that were flooded probably aren't anymore. Until the mine canals are opened, the water gets sent to the Fountain—it's an old Kini in the mountains." Her face brightened and a strange gleam came into her eye. "The pipechimes are washed out."

"Come again? Windpipes?"

"This place was also a Temple to the Great Spirit. There's all sorts of instruments that use wind and bellow pumps. Don't be surprised if you hear some creepy breathing sounds. Makuta broke those."

Hali hopped atop the torus platform. "Hop aboard, this will take us down. I know another exit near the mine drain. It's not far!"

Hopping on as instructed, Pohatu refrained from rippling the stone, afraid he might do something wild to it. _I'm awful curious about these things. Such strange rock._

With an almost pleased groan, the torus slid downward, carrying them at a measured pace into the heart of the Korio Mahi. Twin rivers of yellow and blue glowstone gems lit the torus shaft for them during the descent. Light glinted and danced off the Matoran and Toa's armor.

"Wow," Pohatu breathed. Now this was style! Why didn't Po-Koro have a lift like this? The stair was fine, but this was something else.

At the bottom, the lift slowed with a splash as it submerged into a pool of water. The liquid spread onto the torus and lapped at their feet.

"Ah, water again," Hali sighed, and then scurried off to stand on a dry platform beyond.

Following her, Pohatu gazed out at the chamber before them. A haunting, but beautiful melody echoed through the vast chamber. The light was dim, as many of the glow circles along the walls and ceiling had become wild, spiked bushes of titanite.

Narrow walkways of polished metal extended before Hali and Pohatu, leading out over emptiness and into the shrouded beyond of the chamber. Below it, Pohatu could make out the loud roar of water, and even the distant white fleck of foam seething in the deep. It seemed to be getting no louder, which brought no end of relief for him. Loud noises, in his short lifetime, indicated something wrong.

 _Wait. Did I just think silence is pleasant? Oh no. This place is going to turn me into one of those Po-Koro villagers, isn't it?_ He recalled Onewa insisting he'd come to appreciate the quiet. _Well, how about that?_

"Two more levels and we should be there," Hali said. "There's a lift on the other side. We can't miss it." She started across one of the narrow walks.

"Wait, that looks dangerous," Pohatu objected. "At least climb onto my back…"

The Ga-Matoran turned—turned!—around on the platform, which was almost too small to accommodate both her planted feet. Toes dangling off the edges, she started walking _backwards_ as she mocked Pohatu. "Scared?

"…Right. You've done this before."

"The great Hali the Explorer laughs at danger. Hahaha."

He couldn't resist, he just _couldn't._ "HAHAHAHA!" Pohatu shouted, bellowing deep in his throat. It seemed so appropriate, and if she was so confident, who was he to treat her like she was fragile glass? His voice reverberated into the chamber, echoing further and further away, and then came back again, booming into his ears. He winced.

Hali winced as well, and gave him a disdainful smile. Waving for him to follow, she turned back around and continued on over the narrow catwalk.

Toa of Stone he was, and so Pohatu followed, ambling along without fear of losing his balance, not outwardly, at least. Inside, he was prepared to grab hold of the walkway with his feet if necessary. "You sure this is the right way to travel. It doesn't, uh, seem fast or convenient," he called. The pounding thunder of the water and the high, almost breathless notes up ahead tried to fight his voice for dominance.

"There's another way, but it takes longer," Hali shouted. She also shouted something else, and waved her arms in a way like she was describing something in motion.

Pohatu gave up on trying to catch her words. It didn't make sense to have a shouting contest with a river and… whatever those chimepipe things were supposed to be.

The walk lasted about as long as Pohatu predicted, and proved a sight more treacherous for him than for his companion. The walk was not built for something the size of a Toa to traverse, and condensation from mist swirling up from below slicked the walkway.

But, Pohatu trusted in his sense of balance. With a satisfied huff, he front flipped off the rail and landed in front of Hali, who stood peering into the dark, her glowstone raised to try and help the dim lighting from the ceiling.

"There," Pohatu said, gesturing at three lifts in the distance. Their central pillars rose up all the way through holes in the ceiling high above.

"Which one," Pohatu asked, after reaching the two lifts.

The middle lift shaft was absent its platform. The noise of the water had faded to a distant rumble. But the music of the chimepipes continued to sing in their lilting voices. Beyond the torus lifts, Pohatu made out a series of golden pipes rising up from the floor. "Or do you want to go inspect those chimes?"

Hali stared at the platforms, transfixed.

Standing on the middle platform, looking almost ghostlike, stood Vhisola. The pipes sang their long, melancholy chimes to the tune of sea flutes, an instrument shared only by the Ga and Po-Matoran tribes.

 _"_ Don't you want to see the greatest instrument built on Mata Nui," Vhisola asked. "You can't experience greatness until you live some danger, Hali!"

 _She's a memory. Don't get caught in the dream._ Hali blinked twice.

 _"_ _Alright, fine." Vhisola raised a hand. "Remember that you were the one who dared me to come in here."_

 _"_ _Right, yeah. Sure… that was only the upper levels. We were warned not to go down too far. There's Rahi nests and things,"_ she protested, knowing already that it was useless. She hadn't said those words to Vhisola back then. She watched the lift rise an inch as it unlatched itself, preparing for the descent.

Her eyes blinked. And the lift was banished to its place in reality, somewhere down below, she knew. She felt tears forming.

 _And that's the last anyone's seen of her._

"Hali, which one? You're spacing out, little friend, almost as bad as an Onewa sculpture," Pohatu said.

A decision. She had to make a decision. Did she dare to trust Pohatu? An absurd question. He had saved her too many times. He had saved her enough. _He doesn't deserve this. No one deserves bodyguarding me from my problems._

Right and down let straight to the mining floor. It was probably no safer there, but there was a path outside. Down and left stopped in the Thoroughfare of Channels. From there, she could make her way back up to where the middle lift led to, the Kini. And the Channels, likewise, could open and close the dam on either side of the Korio Mahi, assuming something had not broken. _Something did all this on purpose. I know we probably shouldn't interfere. It could have been on a Turaga's orders._ She held her tongue.

"Either one," she lied. "Both lead down to where we need to go."

Pohatu looked down at her and tilted his head.

She looked up with a smile and a shrug. "I'll take left?"

"If you go left, I go left," Pohatu decided, stepping on the lift. He smiled and held out his hand to help her aboard.

 _Ice water._ She hid her displeasure at her split-second plan drowning and hurried up after him, taking his hand out of courtesy.

Down their lift went, faster than the first. It was cold on the floor below, a virtual fulfillment of her curse. She felt instant guilt, as if her spirits were plunging with her. She was planning on abandoning Pohatu to a fate similar to Vhisola. Granted, she'd _tried_ to rescue her friend at once, who was no Toa of Stone. He could take care of himself. Still, it hurt her to realize what she'd tried to do.

 _I will make it up to him,_ she decided. Though, she wasn't sure how. Explaining the truth about Vhisola would take an awful lot of preparation. She still hadn't written the incident down in her chronicles, for good reason. Even the thought of it made her head hurt. _Sometimes I understand how poor Takua feels._

The torus slowed and ground to a halt. Water raged down a massive waterfall on the distant end of the room, and its water could be felt rushing under their feet beneath the stone. A rail, broken by a long row of pillars shaped like palm leaves, stood sentry over the river as it poured in from the other side of the dam, or through a series of openings cut into the walls. From these poured the diverted headwaters of the Tiro River, and they formed a long row of aquatic arches. Lime and teal glowstones lit the waters on the outer side of the columns, causing the river to shimmer in bright, oceanic colors. Emeralds, backlit by white glowstone, formed veins of sap through the palms until they stretched up onto the ceiling and spread out to form a roof of shimmering ivy. With the main lighting behind the pillars, light and shadow contrast lent the impression the waters flowed under the sky, while the pillars supported a shaded cloister. It was stunning, fantastic—and entirely unnoticed.

Dead opposite their lift at five paces distant, shifting water reflecting off its ebony and royal purple carapace, lay a Nui-Jaga. Two purple Masks of Strength adorned each pincer. Their four soulless eyes mocked the newcomers from amidst leprous scabs of corruption.

It opened its eyes, releasing twin beams of green light that pierced the center of Pohatu's chest. Its pincer uncurled upwards, noiseless peril made manifest.

Hali remained perfectly still, heart racing. Trembling, she fought hard not to back up. To move invited death's choicest sting. _Is this what met you, Vhisola? Is this why I couldn't…_ tears streaked down her eyes. Her mask contorted in response to her grief, as best it could; the slime-covered tile wasn't reflective enough to show her what a poor job the mask did.

The spotless black carapace was. She saw that her little Kaukau did her pain no justice.

 _Calm down,_ she tried to tell herself. This was no battle in the desert. The predator wasn't in its natural element. And, despite two thorough combings, had she run across sign that a Nui-Jaga had consumed Vhisola. _I never found a clue, at all,_ her logic replied. Her emotions fought against her too. The sight of the beast so close, watching them, proved too much.

 _You didn't react this way in the desert! Pull yourself together, coward!_ In truth, all her wild stunts, like diving the Gaku Cliff, had been an attempt on her part to concentrate her courage. Nokama promised it was in there, somewhere.

Very, very deep down. She just… couldn't get thoughts of the battle in the desert out of her mind. Losing Vhisola, too, had made her a wreck. She could deal with most Rahi, even the Jaga, but not at such _close_ quarters! _If we move we die,_ she thought, unable to see a way out. _We're dead._ Her fear had conquered this time.

Pohatu took a step forward, an animal snort escaping his mouth. His left foot actually pawed at the floor like a Kane-Ra bull preparing for murder!

The Nui-Jaga jolted a step forward, tail going from relaxed poise to flex-taught for the stab.

 _No!_ she opened her mouth, but fear gagged her voice. _Remember the Nui-Jaga from the desert! Don't move or it'll attack._

"I, Pohatu Toa of Stone," he said in a level, slow voice, "am tired of running _away_ for today."

A pair of amber-orange beams extended toward the Nui-Jaga's face as Pohatu's gaze intensified with battlelust.

"I-I," Hali stilted, and then froze over on the inside.

 _Now!_ Pohatu attained _Speed._

Stinger-tail _stabbed—_

 _-_ Pohatu stepped sideways in a quarter blink and kicked upward—

A thunder-clap cracked through the cavern, unleashing an explosive echo. Hali felt a swoon of terror overcoming her. Weakness claimed her legs and she started to fall.

Power pillaged its way from one of Pohatu's legs to the foot of the other, blasting weak stone away from his feet, pounding it into a footprint crater beneath him—

-Unyielding might resisted his kick. He snatched his foot away, leaving the stinger tail undented. The Nui-Jaga reeled in its hunting tool, and started opening its mouth to release a deafening keen—

Hali started to tilt backward, eyes dimming.

-Hopping back a step to gain distance, Pohatu crouched, tensing his muscles for the jump—

-The Nui-Jaga lashed out with its left pincer, catching only a after-blur too short lived to call an after _image_. Its scream released, a squeal that ended on notes ragged as wounds made by its teeth. He lunged, landed on the claw and dashed up the arm. The tail twitched toward him and stung—

-Pohatu leapt, the world turned to liquid ink and smeared into lines around him. He somersaulted once, landed feet-first upon the top of a palm column and bounded back with smooth momentum of one without substance or mass. The stone felt like slick ice beneath his feet, unsubstantial. His feet planted against his foe, smashing into its Pikari-guarded hide. He felt it give, a little, before the muscle beneath absorbed the blow—

Hali's legs buckled and began to bend at the knee.

-Pohatu vaulted off the Nui-Jaga's back at a low angle and somersaulted in a tight ball to the floor, blasting out a small rippling crater on impact; the ground turned to dry ocean beneath his Power's instinctive release—

Hali's knees finished buckling, and her head lifted up to the ceiling as she fall toward one side as short bursts of pushed air buffeted her.

-Spinning, the Nui-Jaga flexed its ten legs, its backside angling upward as it readied to spring and stab in the same movement—

-Migraines and pain from his landing razed through Pohatu's muscle and bone, yet he persevered. He pounced, causing the floor tiles to scatter behind him like square leaves, and angled a gauntleted uppercut at the Nui-Jaga's serrated jaw—

-The scorpion extended its left legs, jolting to the right—

-Pohatu's left fist rocketed into empty air, and his spinal ribs creaked in protest as they extended to the edge of their limits. Momentum slid him forward, he was a weightless shadow upon oiled ice, and the Nui-Jaga was a splatter of black ink on the left—

With a soft thud, Hali struck the floor. Her head started to rebound.

-The Nui-Jaga struck, launching off all ten feet. The air scrambled aside to form three complete ring-arches to let the stinging tail pass through its space—

-The sting moved far beyond the pace of Pohatu's thoughts, but not beyond Kakama itself. Pohatu backflipped—tail struck floor, now vacant the Toa, blasting rubble and force that sheered those rocks to dust—Pohatu landed in a crouch and dashed up in a sprint through the particle sleet, his form an iced razor that cut thin the wall of wind. It sang like crystal as he sliced through—

-A blurring squiggle of ink slid by him as the tail recoiled, it was like time itself was running backwards to head him off. He drew more upon Kakama, and caught up with the retreating tail, weaving through droplets of released sky blue venom, which seemed to hang motionless between him and the foe—

-The Nui Jaga's pincers struck, lashing out with the fury of a Tarakava in its sinews, once-twice-thrice— _fourfivesix_ —

Hali cracked her head against the stone a second time, and her mask began the slow fall to the floor.

-It released a second keening assault on Pohatu's ears—

-Pohatu side-winded around the Rahi's blows, the impacts meteoring a trail of craters behind him, and kicked the beast in the face just as it started to scream—

The mask tilted off her and canted its empty sockets to the floor.

-Canting backward on its legs, the Nui-Jaga flowed with the blow to its face and used the force to help tug its tail the last stretch it needed, coiled it up, and flexed to fire. It didn't cease raining hammer blows against Pohatu, its claws descending against him in a blur—

-from the force of the kick, Pohatu ricocheted off, planted himself to the ground on his hands, and lashed out against the black comets of the enemy's claws with his legs. He crouched, letting the tail sting the air above him, and then spun-kicked upwards, battering the overwhelming claw blows aside as they fell again. Their raw strength made his muscles and joints scream in pain—

And, at last, the mask hit the floor face-first beside Hali's shoulder.

-Sensing victory, the Nui-Jaga thrust with both claws—

She blinked, hearing a whistling sound.

-straight into Pohatu's arms, even as they crossed to guard him from the blow he felt coming. Tremors crawled up Pohatu's arm like twin earthquakes as he sailed into the wall behind the torus lift. Armor dinted inward, sinew and tendon snapped, and bone splintered. He struck the stone from behind, and his skull erupted with flash of white pain—

For a moment, Hali thought she saw a bronze flash of light sail past her. Then darkness claimed her senses.

A sizzling sound awoke Hali mere instances after she lost her wits, and she opened her eyes and started up, ages of battle forcing her into action by practice alone, even before she was yet lucid! In a defensive crouch, her suva already putting a Kanoka into her strong fingers, Hali's eyes refocused, narrowing upon the violet and black blur. Her ears tingled from the ragged squeal-shriek of the Rahi, and her maskless face felt the painful rush of wind about her as thunder beat its drum underground. The echoes answered back to it, and froze her with fear again.

The sizzling noise she heard intensified to a crackle of furious electricity. Hali forced herself to turn and look behind her, expecting to see some kind of horrible insect Rahi, like a Nui-Rama.

A nest of honey-colored lightning writhed within a big crater in the thick wall, questing its mad tendrils across the pile of rubble.

The Nui-Jaga jerked its head toward her. In a sudden tidal wave of black and purple, it loomed above the Ga-Matoran, sensing that she wasn't even looking at it, the perfect prey.

Wind pushed Hali flat to the floor from the force of the Rahi's advance, and the ground splintered beneath its legs. It opened its mouth, a keen building up. And its stinger readied to strike her.

Before her eyes could see it, the rubble exploded outward and expanded into a cloud of choking powder. Elemental bolts flashed in it. Two amber flames appeared, and intensified for an instant. Then, with a mighty roar Pohatu exploded through the cloud, arms spread wide and eyes shining. Ten thick junks of rock, with sheer ends like spears, flanked him like moons as he arrowed into the Nui-Jaga—

Hali tried to crawl on her back from the Rahi, but the Nui-Jaga knocked her several paces anyway with the wind force of its leap, claws crossed and open before its face for defense, stinger streaking into Pohatu, aiming for his vulnerable chest—

-Pohatu turned to a bronze-gold streak and vanished. A high-pitched noise filled the air. The stones crashed into the stinger tail and merged into an oblong crumple of a boulder, shackling the tail—

-With a flash, Pohatu struck from the ceiling, blasting glowstones and emeralds from the wall as he kicked back down. His leg extended like an instrument of decapitation, and smashed the Nui-Jaga's tail. Blue poison and crustacean blood erupted into the air, and went flat as saucers against the wind and dispersed as the Rahi snapped at Pohatu, catching only a _shiiiinging_ afterblur—

-He slammed a side-kick into the Nui-Jaga's sides, flipping it end over end—

Screaming, Hali tried to flee, but had to duck instead, narrowly avoiding the insect as it flew overhead and crashed into the wall right beside Pohatu's crater. She started to peak up— _shiiing—_

-Sailing overhead, Pohatu, crashed atop the Nui-Jaga, another roar erupting from his deep chest as his feet struck the Nui-Jaga's belly—no, its face, for it flipped over again and lashed with its claws. Pohatu's feet met the enemy's blow—

-Armor carapace _splattered,_ like ink, and painted the wall—

-Pohatu somersaulted halfway up to the ceiling as he vaulted away from the impact. He landed and raced back over in a single, flowing streak, like a river of bronze, his Power crackling over him like a lightning coat. His arms hardened, and his bones reset from the suffused release of his element. Crashing upon the other Pincer, Pohatu shouted again, turned his four gauntlet fingers into claws, and slammed both into the Nui-Jaga's vengeful maw, even as it struck at him with it, determined to feed even in the face of death.

The Rahi's voice, a perfect union of hatred and pain, struck with such violence that the emeralds shivered free of their moorings and the glowstone backlighting shattered—

-before one jewel clattered to the floor, Pohatu's hands squeezed about the hot armor of his foe, and… unleashed his Power. He could feel the warmed carapace, the straining muscle steel throbbing beneath with blood, and the enduring bone beneath. Last of all, he felt the marrow steel, the protodermis birthplace of blood.

He. _TWISTED._

"I… am. Tired… of your… noise," Pohatu panted. As if yanking a rug from under a Matoran's feet, he pulled his arms back.

Hali screamed, and stumbled back, horror filling her vision as the Nui-Jaga _warped_ and deformed, swirling like the worst watercolor she'd ever seen, transforming into a pulsing, bleeding mass. It let out a trumpeting noise more horrific than any before, though far less loud. The melded fleshed metal pooled into a slagged heap, as if under the steady influence of flame, until its color melded to a dark, dark purple-grey.

Breathing heavily, Pohatu turned about tottered over to Hali, unable to keep balance on his exhausted legs. He reached her fallen mask, tried to pick it up for her, and then collapsed onto his back, his heart beating loud enough to hear, like a lone victory drum patting out its beat.


	13. Dry Blues II

_"_ _You will move to open the door. It shall be found twenty paces down."_

He does as he is told, climbing down the rocks of the cliff like a spider. But he is a spider that cannot be seen.

 _It is done._

 _"_ _Good._ _I am pleased with your work. Two are trapped as like rats within a maze. Sand lies above, water rises beneath. Shadows surround them. Distrust shall be the hook by which they are snared. You will use Rupahu._

 _"_ _One is weakened by guilt and fear. She seeks that which I have already taken for myself and interned as one of the Six to Be, which shall be mirrors of the Six that Are now, as shadow is to light."_

He creeps deeper into the tunnel, seeking the one from whom his power flows. Drinking deeply, he sups upon the feast of fury, unleashed frustration, uncertainty and suspicion. He remains filled and strong. But he wants more, so much more! Leaches know not satiation.

 _All of it._

Walls groan. His stolen strength twists the halls, mangling, deforming, fashioning them into the shape of madness, like melting wax. It is wonderful to ruin it. He never liked the place.

 _"_ _Spare no effort in restraint. Leave no trace. You are to be like their shadows, which even now stalk them while they wander in aimless stupidity, learning, growing, feeding upon Hunger and Desire. Do not waste what you have been allowed to steal. You are not yet an equal vessel until the shadow and your flesh are joined in the core of your being._

 _"_ _The tranquil Toa is trapped. Her imprisonment has reduced her. Her tranquility is drowned in despair and distilling madness which I have foist upon her. But she will escape for a time. Be swift. Your actions shall undue the hinges of her prison. If her chances waver even by the slightest fraction, her escape shall be to the depths of the earth, from which there is no escape."_

He returns the corridors to their natural state, and then proceeds deeper into the darkness, following the information on the walls. He translates it as he walks.

 _"_ _The castaways of their hearts are my door into the shadowed holdings of their souls, as you know. One here has been ready for the task. Seek it out. It will be your means of capturing the tranquil one's corrupted essence. I will allot it a place amongst the other Six. Bear forth this message to the one whom waits for it in anxious confusion._

 _"_ _Once all of my Six are borne forth, they shall be the weapon by which I stab my Brother. Consider, then, the lives of our enemies. They will have not purpose forever in my grand design. This is for the third time I have uttered these things to you in this place, and I again choose to alter nothing. Should you fail, they will remain, should they remain, you shall have opportunity to subvert them, and thereby misconstrue further repetitions of "Destiny", and break through this labyrinth circle of fate."_

He wonders about the Six, and hopes he too will receive as he has been promised. Surely he will! He has done such a good job. His loyalty is without question. His dedication absolute, not at all like that insane Old One, who uses substances and scribbling to serve the Master.

 _"_ _In time, you will gain what you wish. My Island circles as a Takea shark. All that remains is to catch them off guard. They will not be allowed to meet and unite. They must not. Golden Masks must be shattered, even if my island must ascend and the heavens rumble. The Two of this place may survive, but you will render them at odds, as I have commanded. Distrust shall be your weapon. Unity, shall be her bait. Stone and Water crushed by themselves._

 _"_ _The Stone one is cracking. Without the adamant substance of Faith, his Duty rusts into the wind, and his Destiny lies beneath my veils. He has no Unity. He is alone. Breach his failing patience with the sum of all his doubt. When that is done, his patience and endurance will liquidate to Scorn. Then he will flee onwards into my will. From there, his destruction will be assured."_

In time, he reaches the great centerpiece, a great screw that ate the earth and rock. It had quested far below before his Master stilled its work, and it could be set to work again. He questions if he should feed it water, and looks up at the sound of the streams high above.

 _"_ _Chaos is a friend. Whenever its touch is possible, use it."  
_

He nods. "I won't fail, Mighty Makuta, I swear to you. Have I not proven successful in the past?"

 _"_ _It was upon your failure that fate has rebuilt a bridge away from this trap I have sat for them."_

"I beg forgiveness." He grovels low, humbled and afraid. The shadows oppress him, slipping about like a pack of hungry Muaka.

" _I blame you not for what cannot be changed. Useful you remain. Useful will your actions be. Continue onward. And when you have finished your work here, you will read upon the next block of my Chart of Riddles."_

"I hear and obey."

Without another word, Ahkmou slipped further into the darkness on Makuta's errand, scenting and tracking the foul odors seeping from the Toa's hearts.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

The convergence of rivers surged onward, heedless of the brutal duel that had just ended on the colonnade above it. Hali felt its hum rising up from the platform as she knelt beside the Toa of Stone. Still shocked, it took her several minutes before she could reconnect her nerves.

Shaking, she attuned to the thrumming waters, a Ga-Matoran meditation technique for finding tranquility after horrific experiences.

The constant, steady rhythm tuned out the horrible scream still echoing in her skull. She reached out and picked up her mask, and then put it on her face. She felt instantly better. Staggering to her feet, she let herself look at Pohatu.

 _What do I do? He saved my life, didn't he?_ Hali forced herself to rise from the meditation so she could think straight. The Nui-Jaga was past. It couldn't hurt her. _It's not the Rahi that worries me anymore._

"Is something on my face," Pohatu asked in a wheezing voice. He coughed.

Hali gasped and hopped a step back. She instantly felt guilty, and ashamed. "S-sorry. I apologize," she stammered, bowing.

"You're stilling staring at me like I'm something that crawled out of the sand," Pohatu said. He fought to sit up, and fell back again. Everything felt cracked.

Hali looked away.

"Say, I could use some help. It feels like I'm going to end up like that Nui-Jaga," he said, reaching out a gauntlet to the Matoran.

She pulled away from the hand like it was an open pincer.

"You're scared of me." Pohatu blinked in a confusion.

"W-well, it's just, that was _horrible._ " Hali refused to look over at the slagged remains of the Nui-Jaga.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Pohatu said, eyes going wide.

"Shouldn't I," Hali asked, feeling her heart start beating in protest. This was _not_ her place to speak. _Who's going to say it, then? He doesn't like Turaga Onewa. Nokama isn't here. It's just me, and the Toa. The powerful, ferocious Toa who just defeated a Nui-Jaga single-handed. One who also doesn't seem to care one way or another_ what _he did to win._

"What are you talking about, Hali. Look, I need help to get up. I think my Mask of Speed… I don't think I have the hang of it yet. My arms at least are broken."

"It's what we've been talking about since we first met," Hali said. She winced. How to approach this? She wasn't even sure if what Pohatu had done was wrong. Of all Matoran, she'd fantasized about seeing something happen the scorpion Rahi beasts.

"It is?" Pohatu looked bewildered.

"Yes. You do scare me, Toa Pohatu. I'm frightened by many things, but you _terrify me_. Seeing what you did to the Nui-Jaga it—it makes me wonder what you're willing to do to the island, to the Matoran."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would I hurt you? The scorpion was attacking us!" Pohatu tried to rise again, and instead found himself in an even worse position, with his limbs twisted beneath him. "Ouch. Hali, please, help me up. Now isn't the time."

"When is it then? When you're better, after the next Rahi, or the next?" Hali shook her head. "I'm sorry, Pohatu. It… it's not that I don't thank you for saving me. It's that you have no reason to."

"If there wasn't a reason, I wouldn't have helped you," Pohatu snapped.

"That's right, Pohatu. And what reasons do you have? From what I've seen, you shirk the Turaga's wisdom. You don't even seem to care much at all about the Three Virtues. Do you even care to awaken the Great Spirit, Pohatu?" she shouted out the last question, ambushed by a sudden impulse of despair. This was one of the island's saviors? _And I have to ask if he even cares about his mission! Why should I believe the Toa of water will be any different from him?_

Pohatu stayed silent for a minute. His first instinct was to say _"No, of course I want to awaken the Great Spirit."_ His second was to rethink his position. Did he really? He wasn't even sure why the Great Spirit needed to reawaken. The world was like it was now, sure, but hadn't it always been that way? "I don't know, honestly, Hali. Does it matter? I can still protect you Matoran, can't I?"

Hali backed up a step. "Can you? When you don't even care about your Destiny? Or own reason for existence?"

"Why should I if it's meaningful," Pohatu snapped, growing frustrated with Hali's refusal to help him up. "I'm escorting you through the desert, aren't I? You and I don't seem to be much different, except you're not helping _me_ now that I'm needing it! Give me your hand, Hali!"

"No! You're going to stay there, and listen." Hali stamped her foot. She had her weaknesses, but talking had always been something she could do. She wasn't about to back down, not now that she'd started. "If you don't understand your Destiny, what about your Duty? Tell me, 'honestly', Pohatu, _why_ you bothered to help me across the desert? Why didn't you just stay and conquer Po-Koro, since you didn't like the way Turaga Onewa rules it?"

Pohatu's amber eyes began to glow with mounting anger, casting shadows that loomed like unstable cliffs. "Why? Why do you think 'Why', Hali!? Because I'm not that kind of Being. Because I care about you! I didn't _want_ to attack Po-Koro. What's gotten into you?"

"What will get into you, Pohatu," Hali demanded, taking a resolute step closer, but keeping herself well out of reach of Pohatu's groping gauntlet. "You're right, you're nice. Everyone can be nice. Even Jaller, a Ta-Matoran guard, is nice when he wants to be." She forced herself to look from the floor to Pohatu's face, right in the eyes that filled with anger. "Makuta speaks like you do. I remember a meeting once, by the fire.

"It was a meeting to tell some of the younger Matoran, myself included, about how things came to be the way they were. And about what Mata Nui's plan was to fix it. It was a prophesy, more a legend, really. The Turaga didn't tell it until that night. Makuta appeared right afterword and started questioning everything we believed in: the Virtues, the Turaga, Mata Nui, himself, and even each other.

"Pohatu, you like me, and are willing to help, even fighting a Nui-Jaga to save me. You even carried me when a Makikona attacked, and kept going when you learned I'd intentionally brought us to its territory anyway, despite you suggesting we not take such a route."

"Wait, did you do that all as some sort of… test?"

"Maybe," Hali said. "I guess. Not the way you think, I mean." She looked down, unable to bear his gaze for too long. Betrayal roiled in it like boiling water. "I… I did not know if the stories were true, myself. Makuta and those who follow him believe they're fables. I guess I, too, thought they were just legends after so long. But then you arrived! I wanted to see if you lived up to all these centuries of hope." She looked back up at him, and cupped her fingers together.

"And I didn't meet them. Sorry to not be so perfect." He coughed.

"Oh, your power lives up to what we've dreamed of," Hali assured, gesturing, but still not looking, at the Rahi's remains. "What doesn't is your Virtue."

"Are you going somewhere with this, Hali, or do you want to go on without me now that I'm not able to fight off more Nui-Jaga?"

"Let me ask you," Hali continued, "if you don't care about awakening Mata Nui, what do you care about beating Makuta?"

"Because he's evil?"

"Why?"

"Look, Hali, I've never met this Makuta. I don't know anything other than his name, which I admit sounds kind of creepy. Other than that, I just don't know, or really care right now!"

"Exactly," Hali said, putting her foot down again. "You didn't care in the desert either. You didn't seem to know your Duty or Destiny, and it didn't seem to matter."

"Should it have? We were thirsty!"

"So was I, yet I knew my Duty: to help you find _water_ ," Hali replied, raising her voice. "If you don't know and don't care, then what's to stop you from changing your mind some day? One day, Makuta may offer you a deal that sounds better. Would you refuse? Would you consider?"

"Maybe, if he made more sense than you're making right now," Pohatu said, his voice stony.

 _There's that tone. He's at the edge._ She felt fury bubbling up from inside her. _So am I._ She took a step back. "Well, then you understand why I'm scared of you now? If you don't feel it as your Duty to be my hero, what else could you one day feel yourself to be?"

"A very angry and hurt Toa," Pohatu said, forcing himself onto his stomach. He hissed in pain.

"Right. One day, that might turn against us Matoran. We're weak, and small. I would be dead now, like my friends who were killed by Nui-Jaga before me," Hali cried, her voice echoing throughout the chamber. "Perhaps you _will_ meet Makuta's voice. Go ahead. Consider. His monsters murdered many of the people I loved. The Village—the whole Island—still miss the ones the Shadow has taken from us. You were our _only_ hope! And now you'd 'consider' whether _he_ makes any sense. Are you going to kill us for him?" Tears streamed from her eyes.

"I would never do that!" Pohatu was growing as mortified as he was furious.

"What's stopping you? If your Destiny is whatever you want it be, then you haven't an anchor to rely on. If you don't even consider protecting us your Duty, if you don't even care about the Great Spirit, then what's the difference between those who serve Mata Nui, and those who bow low for Makuta?"

"I… that. I don't. Know. About. _Anything._ " He was in pain, and did not want to think about questions he wasn't interested in contemplating even at the best of times. He admitted that this was the whole reason she was upset, but still, his anger felt hot within him, like a stone melting. How _dare_ this little midget question him? She was only being so forceful and brash because she knew he couldn't _make_ her stop.

"If you don't know or care, I can't be certain you won't turn your wrath on me or Ga-Koro next," Hali continued, crying now. "Your powers are _too great_ to not define how they are to be used." She covered her Mask with her hands. "Why don't you go and ask Makuta what he thinks? Then at least, you'd have your chance to think it over." She turned away.

Footsteps echoed into the colonnade. "Would that be such a bad, unfair thing?"

Pohatu and Hali turned to look at the source of the fresh voice. Another Ga-Matoran approached from one end of the hall, a yellow glowstone in one hand.

"Vhisola, how…" Hali's breath fled out of her open mouth.

"Come to finally seek out my whereabouts, have you," Vhisola replied.

Hali tottered toward her. "I thought you were _dead_."

"I should hope not," Vhisola said with a dry laugh. "Otherwise there'd be nothing but rust left for you to scavenge, after all these centuries."

"But how," Hali asked. She felt a delighted shock setting in.

"Come and see." Vhisola gestured with her free hand for Hali to follow her back the way she'd entered.

"Now wait," Hali cried, running after Vhisola. "Sister, where have you been? What happened?" she halted and looked back at Pohatu, who now lay on his side, back to them, so he couldn't see. He was trying to look over his shoulder at them, though. His eye twinkled like a knife in the dark. "What about Pohatu? He's injured."

"What about him?" Vhisola didn't look back as she retreated into the hall branching off from the colonnade. "Wasn't your premise based on your lack of trust?"

"Yes, I suppose it was, but…" she looked back one last time at Pohatu, and then hurried after Vhisola. It wasn't like he was in immediate danger, and she couldn't move him by herself easily anyway. But Vhisola had learned from Nokama about some healing techniques. She might be able to do more.

"Wait," Pohatu called back.

Hali hurried into the darkening hall after Vhisola. She heard a snarl behind her, and a crash as Pohatu slammed a gauntlet down on the floor, cracking the stones of the torus platform. She heard a crumbling noise, and turned back in time to see Pohatu disappear down the shaft with the rubble as the platform crumbled and fell. _Fool. That's what you get for lashing out wildly._

The light returned in a hurry. Vhisola appeared beside Hali. "Did he just shaft himself?"

Hali blinked and looked from her sister to the open lift shaft, and then back again. "Yeah, I guess he did."

"Well, serves him right," Vhisola laughed.

"Wait, will he be alright," Hali asked, bewildered by the sudden rush of emotions and events.

Vhisola took her hand and gave a gentle tug. "Hey, it's me, your elder sister. Trust me, if I survived getting trapped down here, so can he for a few hours."

"About that…"

"Follow me." Vhisola turned and led Hali deeper into the Korio Mahi, her chuckle capering into the darkness ahead.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

 **Everything had been so dark. Gali couldn't escape, couldn't overcome this trap into which she had blundered like a hapless two-day old fish. Long had she struggled, battling the unassailable walls of stone with her hooks and powers. Frustrated with her, the water of her prison took part with her, lashing and churning until it turned into a frothing constellation of bubble and foam. Yet even then, it had not been enough.**

 **So, she drew in the water until it trembled with violence about her with the need to explode and expand. She hurled it upon a single point, a roaring blast. Yet, even then, it had not been enough. Furious, the surge roared back into her, a bellow to her wail of despair, and overwhelmed her. She was lost in its trapped currents as they twisted and coiled like agonized serpents, desperate to join a greater cycle, as all water should. And so lost, she grieved, sobbing in hopeless woe.**

 ** _I cannot get out. I cannot get out! I CAN'T GET OUT!_**

 **And the dreams crept in close, whispering voices of things she had never seen and drawing her, beckoning her to places she'd never been. Gali drifted. Asleep or awake it made no difference, all was in blackness. In that blackness, dark thoughts festered within her. So great she'd thought she was. And yet she couldn't escape. It was all hopeless, all pointless. Why not take off the mask and—she made herself, on more times than she could count, to force away that terrible temptation to sink to the bottom with her lungs swelled full of water, and drown.**

 **The temptation, like a living thing, recoiled from her once resisted with force, but it always returned with a renewed assault. The only times when she did not face it was when the slumber overtook her, on which road the madness of nightmares.**

 **Now, at last, she sensed change. Had it been long at all? Had it been eternity? Was it not but a dream? She must have dozed off, yes? It was a wander she remained lucid enough to tell a change anymore.**

 **It remained dark yet, but the currents carried to her the multitude sounds of machines laboring all around her. Was this yet another nightmare, another of those dreams? Since getting washed by accident into this artificial abyss at the bottom of that giant dam, had ever a change rewarded her hope? No. It had always been a lie of her own mind, a trick of her terrible, inscrutable imagination.**

 **Suddenly, she heard a draining sound. She felt the water's delight at finding a sudden opening through which to gush, to escape this stagnant jail! It grabbed her and she followed along willingly, feet kicking in desperation. Light, she saw light ahead!** ** _Thank Mata Nui, I'm going to get free!_**

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

Hali couldn't find her voice. That was a new one. She also couldn't find sanity. For clearly, she was going insane. She hoped.

Vhisola sat in an alcove, eyes upon a flood of script. The circular glyphs streamed down in columns from the ceiling and sides of the alcove, pooled to cover the floor, and traveled out onto the floor of the chamber beyond it. Hali stood on the script, as there wasn't any space left to put her feet.

 _This cannot be happening. The things she's been scribbling here. They don't make sense. Is it a kind of code?_

 _Forget the code! What she's been saying makes no sense. How could the Great Spirit be dead? Vhisola is the one who's gone insane. But how could she? She seems so… in control of herself._

"It's all true, Hali," Vhisola promised. "I understand it. Take your time to get your bearings."

"It. It can't be true, sister," Hali said, finding her words again. "You're not well."

Vhisola turned from her space in the wall and gave Hali a level stare. "I haven't been well since I learned Turaga Nokama and Matau were traitors. Well, they all probably are, in their own way."

"But what could they hope to gain? What could the Toa hope to gain by serving Makuta, for that matter?"

"I saw this place and decoded it. It's all here to read. All of it…" Vhisola gestured at the writings. "Don't deny it, Hali, I taught you well enough in language and ciphering. These glyphs, don't they look so similar to Matoran script? Almost so much you wouldn't notice, right?" she ran a finger along one zigzagging row of glyphs. "But, they're still different. Can't you tell? The words have this wild flow that just seems like it's the very written word of madness. Look at it too long without understanding it, is scary." Vhisola crawled over the Hali and then leaned up into her face, orange eyes going wide. "Can't you feel the wild script trying to get inside her head and write itself there?" she sat back.

Hali fidgeted nervously, at a loss how to respond. She looked over the script. It _did_ have a certain bizarre aspect. She squinted close, and then realized there were weird patterns. What first, second or, Mata Nui knows, even the tenth look-over would show lots of errors. But then, if she really thought about it, what she took for poor drawing turned out to be intentional and organized. Some circles, which were more like ellipses, bent out one way or another, with the varying particles written within the circles also showing signs of consistent warping or improper rendering.

Vhisola followed Hali's gaze. She smiled. "What I first took for a terrible hand I later realized was a complex code."

"Who wrote it?" Hali asked, staring at the bewildering mess. "It looks like Pohatu or Jaller wrote this."

"Nokama did, I suspect," Vhisola said. "I told you that."

"Why, though?"

"I suspected it before coming here," Vhisola said. "Ever since I saw Matau and Nokama holding a secret meeting in Ga-Wahi. There was script like this there as well, though Matau later destroyed the markings before I could copy them all down." Vhisola gestured at a script cube lying in a corner.

"That's why you came down here. You were searching for all of this," Hali said. She shook her head. "I don't understand, what does this say? That it's all a lie? How can you trust it?"

"Answer your own questions, Hali. Think for yourself," Vhisola instructed.

For an instant, Hali felt like she was in a lecture with Vhisola, like long ago. But, those were ages in the past. Right now she expected answers. "No, there's not time for that. And you have explaining to do. Why didn't you tell me, or even show up? I went through this whole place calling out for you _twice._ And I searched every level that wasn't flooded."

"I was afraid of the Turaga. You should be as well. And the Toa. They're monsters."

"But the Turaga have guided us since the day Mata Nui fell asleep. Why betray their own hard work?"

"Greed, weariness, madness, I expect," Vhisola said. "They perhaps realized rebellion against the Master of Shadows was hopeless, and decided they might gain positions of power should they betray the rest."

"We serve Mata Nui, not Makuta! He is the one in rebellion," Hali snapped in shock, pointing a finger at the black ceiling.

"Lies. Believe nothing you hear from them, Hali! The script reveals it all, how they planned to build a great empire here in service to other islands, using us as slaves! They planned to erase our beautiful Mata Nui's rolling hills, snow wastes and jungles with a terrible, monstrous Koro, a Metru, they called it.

"To craft that lie, they took the name Mata Nui and turned it into a Great Spirit to rival Makuta, and so misled us into the true darkness of ignorance." Vhisola's voice dropped to a whisper. Fury drenched her words. "Same as they claimed the Toa were our friends. They are not. They are Makuta's greatest servants. The true ones, at least… the one we saw back there was no servant of the true Great Spirit, I bet, but an imposter, a Pretender Toa."

"If that's true, then where did Pohatu and the rest come from?" Hali demanded. "The Toa can't be lying. The Turaga predicted Six would come, and so they have!" Of course, Pohatu had openly expressed doubt in his allegiance. _Could it be possible?_ She felt so sick she might collapse. But the horror froze her in place.

"Who can say? The script warns that other Toa did exist, but some rebelled against Makuta and sought to overthrow him. Like the Turaga have done. Like they are _doing,_ Hali, _right now!"_

Vhisola stood up and started pacing back and forth. Still holding the glowstone, the sphere of light tracked back and forth with her as she made a slow circle. "We have been deceived! The corrupted masks of the Rahi are crafted by the vile union of Vakama and Onewa's arts. I think. There is no certain explanation, but they are the ones responsible for creating this threat. It is to keep us occupied, to give us reason for building their fortresses and defenses!"

Hali took a step back as Vhisola's voice rose to a shout.

"I'm sorry," Vhisola said, letting out a sigh. "It's been too long since I've been out of this despicable place. Or even spoken to someone else. Well, you know the truth now. I guess it's time we both ran. Whichever Toa find us, we're doomed. Makuta's wrath is kindled, he will now bring punishment on the apostate. We must not incur the attention of his Destroyers!"

"This, this can't be real. It's all a sick joke. Please don't say these things to me, Vhisola!" Hali trembled as Vhisola rested her hands on hers. "Maybe you're _wrong._ Maybe the script is the deception."

"When have I ever been wrong? Or my research invalid?"

Hali lowered her eyes and felt her body begin to shake. She wanted to cry, but her tears were _frozen._

"I'm sorry, Hali. One reason I didn't tell you is because I knew how much it would hurt. Just as it hurt me. I guess I am probably mad." Vhisola looked down at the glowstone, as if just now realizing it was in her hand. "How could truth as horrible as this not drive anyone insane? But learn I did. I don't regret it." She smiled and looked at Hali. "Now, we have a way to fight back." She cupped Hali's chin in both hands and raised her head back up.

"You said, you said Mata Nui is dead," Hali stammered, unable to see true madness in Vhisola's eyes.

"What does not exist cannot live," Vhisola said, with a dark look. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. All we can do is hide, and wait. Soon, Makuta will enact judgment on this island and those Turaga who returned to him too late. The script warns of the Rumbling Sky. The Black Island itself shall fall from above and smite the False Kini Nui at the center of the island. Whatever that means."

A grinding sound issued from beyond the chamber. Both Matoran jumped in fright and retreated to the alcove.

"Hold on. That's the mineworks," Vhisola muttered. "Hurry, Hali! We have to get out of the Korio Mahi, right now! There's no time to spare!" she dashed to the door, rolled it aside and hurried out into the hall.

"Wait!" Hali shook herself, took off her mask, then put it back on, forcing her mind to conform to the daggers now imbedded there. So cold, so sharp, she wished they were blades of iron and not revelation. There were blades in her heart, also. Those she couldn't begin to ignore.

Rushing out of the room, Hali looked down one dark corridor, and then the other. There was no sign of Vhisola or her glowstone. She'd been left alone without light, her eyes and soul blinded.

The darkness complete.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

It had been a long, long way down. Pohatu wasn't sure how long he'd been out after the impact. A long time, he guessed.

After awakening, he set about trying to move deeper into the shadows, in search of light or some other exit. The very thought of climbing made his body hurt worse. Thankfully, he found he could walk again upon getting up. That black orb thing on his chest had detached and done something. Onewa had indicated it was a kind of assembler for reattaching limbs during an accident. Well, it hadn't worked upon his arrival to the island. He guessed the Turaga had seen it repaired.

Despite the assembler's best efforts, aches and pains continued to plague him. Since it was slow going anyway, Pohatu halted at intervals to massage his arms and legs. It seemed to help, a little, but hurt worse in other areas. The bones seemed to have formed back wrong. He could tell, somehow, that the innermost marrow steel was not as it should be.

Forcing himself to keep moving, the Toa found himself in a chamber so vast that its greater darkness devoured most of the light from several glowstones spaced somewhere overhead. By their meager light, he could detect great ducts of carved stone rising from ceiling to below the floor. The sound of water had never really left him since waking, but here it grew the most prominent.

At the center of the chamber, which took a long walk to reach, rested a massive circular opening, covered with adamant metal unmarred by rust or scarring. It was, however, not fully sealed. A breach had been made by something with immense physical strength. He slipped his head through the puckered lips of the hole and peered into the gloom. A faint orange glow from his eyes lit the sides of the seal, but it wasn't enough light to see anything substantial. _I think it keeps on going. There's lots of water at the bottom, though._

He found, after some searching with his stone-ripple, a few small corridors moving this way and that. None of them were large enough to accommodate him. If only he had a Matoran partner to scout them out, or a guide to show the way.

Pohatu refused to think about what had transpired with Hali. He would just go on by himself, now that the Matoran had decided to abandon him for the sake of their obsession with their Virtues.

Regardless, he was in a real dilemma, having nowhere to go but… down.

"I've fallen once today," he grunted aloud, unable to stifle a bout of loneliness. For the first time since he'd first arrived, he was totally alone with no guarantee of a conversation. "What could another fall hurt?"

Grunting in pain, he wriggled through the crack and dropped into the shadow. To his relief, he hit a landing just beneath the opening, and found himself crouched on a Matoran-sized walkway. He followed it, descending into a winding corridor set deep into the wall of the shaft.

At the bottom, he arrived into a room lit just enough to reveal a shadowed complex. Great wheels formed an interlocking wall in the distance, with a spider web of square ducts spreading up from the ground to wind into the darkness above at sharp angles. Torrents of water fell all around his exit like giant pillars. They were white with foam in the pale light. He thought he could see more pillars of water descending further into the cavern, but it was too dark to make sure.

Regardless, all the water fed into covered canals and was lost from sight, though their released power caused the stone beneath his feet to throb.

There came a _clank-klink_ noise.

Looking around, Pohatu felt the entire complex shift. Then, the gears began to spin, and a metallic churn struck a relentless groan that filled the air and buzzed in the pit of his core.

 _That must be the mine,_ Pohatu thought. Deciding it was best to be elsewhere, he started to explore the corners of the room, sensing passages and other water-filled reservoirs beyond. His search led him into a long corridor that ran straight ahead for some way. It was fashioned of row upon row of cones rising from the floor and ceiling. Their tips touched and merged like hourglasses. He heard water filling them, and hastened, despite the pain.

Another of the strange, floating stone lifts brought him upwards to a large, brightly lit chamber. He squinted against the sudden light.

Once his eyes adjusted, Pohatu found himself in a conical chamber that spread outward from where he stood. Slanted windows let light fall upon tiers of seats spilling down from where he stood to the floor below. He saw dozens of stone totem-like things resting within the tiers. What in the world were they for?

Right before him rested a similar totem. It looked vaguely like a wheel, but had a smooth Mask of Translation in its center. Its unlit silver eyes stared out at him in sightless patience. It hung there on a silver pole that attached to the ceiling.

He tapped the mask on impulse with a finger, hesitant for some reason.

Silver rings he'd not noticed began to spin in slits on the floor. He shifted his feet, not wanting to get caught in some kind of trap. He watched the rings spin, and noticed vaguely that it was a kind of element. Mercury perhaps?

With a flash of white, the silver eyes behind the Rau awoke to life. The mask pedestal shifted to directly face him and began to orbit him in a circle.

"Do you wish to open the dam," a voice whistled from the mask.

 _No, wait, it's the wheel that spoke. There's hollow pipes running through it._ Pohatu cleared his throat. "Err… yes. I need to take a boat to Ga-Koro. What are you?"

The mask totem ignored his question. Instead, it stopped its orbit where it first started, and then spun around to face the windows. They uttered a soft grind, and began to lower, revealing more of the blue, afternoon sky.

Pohatu basked in the light. The warmth felt good to his battered body.

Descending to the lowest tier, Pohatu peered out the windows as their stone shutters slid below that point. He looked down. The dam lay right below him. He watched the river with anticipation. It swelled, and then began to foam as it grew broader and broader, overflowing its banks until the whole bottom of the canyon was covered.

"What do you think you are doing," a voice demanded from behind.

Pohatu spun about, wary of the commanding tenor. A chill of surprise ran through him.

A blue armored Bionicle stood before him, arms folded across her chest. She wore a mask that reminded Pohatu strongly of Hali's own, being a translucent blue, like it was carved from a sapphire stone.

"Who are you," she demanded, taking a threatening step forward.

"My name is Pohatu, Toa of Stone."

He hurried up the steps to meet her. "You look a lot like me. Err, without the dints and scoring." He smiled and held a gauntlet. "I was just opening the dam so I can take a boat to Ga-Koro. I'd assumed you would be there. I'm looking to meet the other Toa, so we can compare notes."

The Toa leaned back an inch and tilted her mask in a way that seemed to convey disdain. She squinted at him and uncrossed her arms. "I am Toa of Water. By what right do you claim authority to unstop the river?"

Pohatu frowned. "Sorry if I offended you," he said. "I've been sort of wandering the place looking for a way out. Opening the dam seemed like a good step to take, since I planned to travel by boat. Why was it stopped up? A Ga-Matoran I came here with said it shouldn't be closed."

The Toa of Water pointed at the Rau totem. "It was necessary to divert the Motara River so that I might restart the Korio Mahi mineworks." She sniffed. "It is well I came here." She marched across the dais, shouldering her way past Pohatu, and stood before the totem. Hands behind her back, like an empress addressing a crowd, she said, "Countermand the order to release the dam, Taskseer."

Its eyes flashing, the totem whistled its acknowledgement and swiveled to look off at the side, as if pondering a question. It swiveled back a breath later. "It is done. The dam will reseal."

"Excellent."

"So, I was wondering, do you maybe want to meet the other Toa," Pohatu asked. He waited, but didn't expect a positive reply. This Toa seemed a touch too serious. "We have that Makuta to deal with and all. And… I think it would be good if we all met talked about this Destiny the Turaga say we have."

"Ah, yes. I have already learned of your disregard for the sacred Virtues from the traitor." The Toa of Water turned to stare Pohatu down with a look more suited for a Toa of Ice.

"Traitor? Who, Hali? I mean, she _did_ abandon me… but she was upset…"

"And such as one are you," the Toa of Water condescended, pointing a finger at Pohatu's chest.

"Hey, listen, I don't like pointing fingers. Could you return the favor," Pohatu asked, moving the finger away with a brush from his gauntlet. "And, if you hate me as much as Hali seems to, then kindly show me the exit. Or point. The finger is good for that."

"Gladly," the Toa of Water declared. Stepping past Pohatu, she gestured for him to follow and then marched them straight-backed out of the command chamber.

At the end of the narrow corridor, the Toa of Water gestured at a narrow slit in the wall. With a click, a door opened, revealing a passage beyond. "If you could but read, the doors are marked overhead, like so." The Toa of Water pointed at some of the writing that ran in the conjoining space of the wall and ceiling.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to remember that," Pohatu said, not even bothering to tell her he couldn't read. He stepped through the door and peered down a long well. He could see a platform at the bottom. And he sensed it, that sensation of his power being stolen and turned against him.

He whirled around, coming face to face with… himself?

Instead of the Toa of Water, Pohatu was staring into the face of another Toa of Stone, identical to himself in both his mask's shape and the design of his armor. Instead of bronze, this one's armor was a dark brown and black. Subtle strata of bronze and red covered it, as well.

The other Toa of Stone's hand had already been in motion. It pushed Pohatu in the chest. He felt his heart thud, and stop beating. The outer breast of his armor warped and sank inward. Coldness spread outward to stiffen his limbs. Gasping, Pohatu tilted backward from the force of the push and toppled over the ledge.

As he fell, Pohatu looked up to see the dark image of himself laughing in a voice that promised torture. Then it dissolved into thin air.

He felt no pain as he struck the stone below. His powers forced the rock to yield, but he would have felt no pain even if he'd broken his back. Pohatu's heart had stopped, and his core felt crushed.

 _"_ _Pohatu,"_ a familiar voice called into his mind. Pohatu tried to recognize it. Was that Onewa?

 _"_ _Beware, Makuta is drinking the darkness in your… your heart."_ Onewa's voice took on a tone of astonishment. It changed at once to urgency. _"Don't try to move. If you want to live, remain calm and do not resist."_

The influence of the Mask of Mind Control intensified. Pohatu found himself looking _at_ himself through Onewa's eyes, and experienced a profound sense of nausea. And then he was looking up at his arm as it rose into the air. He watched, amazed, as his hand bent down to his chest. He felt Onewa tug at his powers. He didn't fight it.

Over the next minute, Pohatu watched in complete amazement as Onewa worked his own hand through Komau to perform surgery on his own heart! He felt something shift, and bend back into place as his hand shifted within his chest cavity. Strength from his core returned, but there was still no feeling in his body, for which he was rather grateful for, considering his hand was digging inside him.

Darkness swirled into view.

 _"_ _Don't let go, Pohatu. Do not relinquish your will to live. I've done what I can. The Toa of Water is here, by Mata Nui's provision. I will find her."_

Numbness reached his thoughts, stifling the Turaga's calm voice. Blackness eclipsed his eyes, and he felt himself drifting into it.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

The sound of grinding and crushing intensified. Gali knew not where the small, water-filled canal was taking her, or where she had come from. She only knew that the place she was now in, was no place to be at all.

She'd been swimming with the pull of the current ever since escaping her second dark imprisonment. The rapids had emptied into a long, closed canal duct of the same nigh-impenetrable stone of her prison. Up to her came the lamentation of groaning machines, and she knew death awaited her at the bottom of the canal. It was her end, and she had prayed to Mata Nui for forgiveness, though she _somehow_ knew her failure might well result in him never hearing a prayer again, by anyone.

And then, she realized she was not alone.

Something _else_ was with her, something cruel and poisonous. It whispered promises of help, of victory, if only she would turn away from her foolhardy prayers and seek the Shadow, which lay all around her with ready ears.

Not knowing how such a creature, though it felt familiar, as if she had always been with it in the second prison, had gone hitherto unnoticed, Gali dared not attempt a counterattack. She offered no rebuttals either. Let the evil thing attempt to seduce her. She had recalled her purpose. To awaken the Great Spirit Mata Nui was the reason she had been first woken up, and why she still yet drew breath, even in the dark waters beneath the river dam.

Out had flashed her hooks, which snagged an outcropping as if by chance, though she knew it must be Mata Nui's help, as it came in the nick of time. A strong shift in current burst through the barrier separating her from freedom, and out she'd poured in a torrent.

Once outside, Gali took in the bright lights of the glowstones. Most were arranged in circles on the walls or ceiling, and had begun to go dim from deposits of minerals. To one who'd endured darkness so long, she found it more than bright enough.

While her eyes yet adjusted, she'd noticed something dark and long wind its way into the spreading pool of water from the opened canal hatch. She pursued it at once, but moved with the slow gait of caution, hooks at the ready to swipe or snag an ambusher.

She'd seen nothing, but did feel an ominous undertow, like a small hook embedded in her core.

All this had taken place hours ago. Now, hours later, she was still in pursuit of an exit. The waters continued to rise around her from various leaks and opened valves, hatches and great basins overflowing with water and grime. It seemed many things were wrong with whatever this place was designed to be. Droplets falling from the ceiling played to her frantic music, as if they were each counting down to something terrible.

 _It is not a hook in my core, but a leak, like someone is siphoning water from my well of power. I can feel it in every flex of my command over the waters._ She tested her observation, commanding several drops falling in front of her to slow down. Instead, they scattered, sparkling sapphire as her elemental energies suffused them and doubled their size. It was as if her power had slapped her in the face out of spite. _It is as surreal as my dreams. There is a force leaching off of my strength, and it is watching me._

She turned a side corridor, senses ever alert, but unsure how to shake this spiritual pursuer. She could almost feel them, an oily morass of cruelty and despair. She focused on her Duty. She would not allow this force, this evil miasma, to conquer her.

 _It's like my despair from within the second imprisonment made manifest,_ she thought. Had her wicked lapses in faith taken on a physical form to challenge her? _Such a harrowing thought._

Then, she felt something touch her, an alien mind was trying to get into her psyche! She let it try to dip into the still waters of her consciousness, daring it to pry deeper. If the invader didn't leave her head, she'd lash out like a Tarakava before they had time to withdraw.

The interloper, like a person dipping their foot into the shallows, advanced one slow step at a time, as if testing for the unseen ledge before the abyss. And far below, waiting in patient anticipation, lurked Gali. She was master of her own mind. Whatever, or whoever, thought they could enter it and conquer were utter fools.

 _Now, you will depart,_ she thought, readying the reserves of her strength to expulse the attacker, and even launch a counter assault back at the invading mind!

But then, the interloper dropped a stone. It floated through her mind's eye, and she read it. It said, " _I am a friend, a servant of Mata Nui. Turaga Onewa is my name. Seek the Toa of Stone, your brother, before he dies of wounds. Beware, the Enemy, Makuta, has formed daggers from the darkness of your souls and fashioned them into shadows of yourselves. They are stalking you. Be on your guard!"_

 _I do not know that what you say is genuine,_ Hali said, erupting to the surface of her mind, and leaning in toward the visitor. The mind she glimpsed was like an iron fortress. She could see nothing but formidable, ominous defenses. _If you name yourself my friend in service to the Great Spirit, why then do you shut your doors to me, while barging in through my own, and coming to the rim of my mind without invitation?_

 _"_ _Time is of the essence. Your fellow Toa will die if you fail to reach him in time."_

In the physical plain, Gali slowed to a walk, her body alert for traps or danger. In her head, she pondered this Turaga Onewa's words. At length, she decided it was her best option. She sensed the "dagger" somewhere behind her, still feeding off her power, and the traces of fear and anxiety she released along with it.

 _So, this leach, this "dagger" can steal my power through my negative emotions. So be it. I shall expulse them._ She calmed herself and went into a trance, a state of total calm. The loss of power diminished, though it did not fully, utterly stop.

 _I am willing to help. Guide me to him,_ she said to her visitor.

 _"_ _Run. two corridors to your lef will be an intersection. Take the left way. There will be a lift upward."_

Gali obeyed, and took off at a sprint.

Now that she was aware of the connection to her enemy, she felt it strain, and then grow lax. The enemy was following her, using the line of her darker emotions like a lifeline trailing a boat. So, this foe was tied intrinsically to her, and wouldn't be easy to escape. The more she learned, the more convinced she was really in another nightmare. This thing was something straight from her darkest ones.

 _Come catch me,_ she challenged.


	14. Dry Blues III

Despite Vhisola's sudden disappearance, Hali was not abandoned to wander the shadowed corridors without a light. Remembering she had a glowstone of her own, Hali took the rock in hand and started making her way back to the colonnade room. Each step felt like a weighty decision. It oppressed her to think. She had a glowstone, but it didn't help her.

 _Worthless rock,_ Hali thought. She took pleasure in being angry at something, at having something to scream at. She didn't want to walk, or explore. She wanted to find the truth, to question Vhisola further, or at least learn who wrote the coded script and why.

Then, there was Pohatu, who needed help. She'd abandoned him, and for reasons that felt petty. Of course, what could she do alone? She should've asked Vhisola for help in carrying him, insisted, even if that would have surely ended up not working.

Confused and disillusioned, she lost track of where she was going. She knew she was lost, and getting herself more lost by not stopping to search for compass points or directions on the wall. She just… didn't care anymore. Nothing seemed more important that deciding what to believe.

But her ears hadn't stopped paying attention. They heard what she did not. A gentle, haphazard symphony from the chime pipes played a confused undercurrent amidst the constant groaning of the mineworks. And while her mind turned inward on more important matters, her ears directed her feet.

 _It should be so simple._ She knew it should. Why would her faith in Mata Nui fall apart so fast? Why did she feel so suddenly empty? A small part of her wanted to believe Vhisola. And it wanted control.

She made excuses for it. _It's not my fault._ She wasn't able to fight it, not and hold herself together in the face of her sister's fate. She'd given up on Vhisola's survival. The moment she saw her again was like stepping into a crisp, wonderful dream. And then it turned into a complete nightmare, a horror. _Would it have been best if you hadn't survived, Sister?_ Or had Vhisola fished up a conspiracy worth noting? But surely it was all a lie, right? She remembered the words of Makuta, spoken at that one meeting so long ago, and she shuddered. The darkness seemed to drape about her as if to lend comfort. It made it worse. It made it harder to believe what she had been told. _I don't believe it. I have no reason to._

Was it any wonder then, that, seeking assurance of faith, Hali stumbled out of the mineworks and into the Korio Mahi kini? Her ears, having taken the lead, followed the guide of the chime pipes' humming voice.

The kini consisted of six mighty pillars of lapis, each worked in the likeness of swirling currents. Within their centers burned pure, white glowstone, causing the pillars to shine as if they were trapping the light of the sun.

Hali hesitated and looked down at the turquoise and red floor mosaic. Diamond patterns raced in a complex web, which she assumed represented the mineworks and its canals. How odd, that she had been following this trail with Pohatu when they first arrived in the Korio Mahi. Now, here she was, at the point where the floor mosaics began and ended.

Her eyes lit on the end of the long hall, where the choir of chime pipes dominated the kini. Twin waterfalls flanked the collection of crystal spires. Their water pooled into two spiraling canals in front of the chimes, and then drained to run off to some other part of the Korio Mahi.

She advanced, crossing over to stand at the chimes. Craning her head up, she followed the tall instruments up toward the ceiling, where they split in a many-rayed starburst and pierced through the roof. The different pipes ran all through the Korio Mahi, branching off until there were at least ten thousand of them, or more. But from here, in the kini, one could conduct the entire orchestra.

There were at least a hundred pipes clustered together, so many that they completely obscured the wall. Hali advanced to the central chime. It had a semicircle of tarnished brass keys at her level set around its shaft. She rested her fingers on them. A sudden urge struck her. The first time she ever played on this instrument, it had been an angry but playful admonition at Vhisola disappearing on her for days. The second time, almost two hundred long, long years later, she had played a mournful nocturne for her sister's assured passing.

Now, for the third time, she stood before these instruments. Her fingers twitched as her emotions perceived an escape and burst through the dam she'd spent the whole walk building up. Down went the keys, as her fingers pressed hard. The erratic notes roared to a crescendo and united, aimless no more. She kept pressing, shifting, and weaving her hands along the length of the keyboard, from treble to base. The air shivered around her.

The waterwheels that helped power the instruments spun faster, the wind bellows pumped harder, and connecting systems set the lazuli pillars spinning in place. Beams of light flashed out in between the swirling lines and openings, creating an illusion of an ocean and its currents swirling across the walls, the floor—Hali looked up as the crystal pipes refracted the light in a veil of seven colors over her head, arcing from waterfall to waterfall.

She meandered her fingers up the keyboard, sending her confusion and aimless wandering in the dark corridors up through the pipes and through the mineworks. For a timeless instant, she imagined herself still walking through the dark, listening to herself play to irresolution.

Such beauty. Hali shifted her notes, filling them with the hope that she'd always held onto like a lifeline. It surged out of her, and came raining down around her, a resonance in the air that overpowered the dying echoes of her song's listless beginning. Was this a song? She was making it up as she went along. She didn't hesitate and kept playing anyway.

Her grief flowed from her fingers and suffused the keys. The pipes wailed for her, for Vhisola, off on an errand of madness through the halls. She would hear, as would Pohatu, her heart. The keys before her were the doors, and the pipes lent her ten hosts of voices.

They sang for her.

Remembrance of the lasting terror, the Nui-Jaga that slew her friends, lashed up the pipes and came screaming back in from the kini entrance, an echo that repeated itself to death as her fear gave way to new happiness as Vhisola began training her as a chronicler. The knowledge and words of those lectures, and countless hours spent learning from her sister, jumped from the sing-song of a dozen pipes and went spinning about the room, arm-in-arm with the thrilling sensation of diving off Gaku Cliff. She pounded the dare, listening to its exultant blast as Vhisola proved she _could_ find a more dangerous challenge.

Loss, Hali's fingers trembled and fumbled as they sought to find a beat, a consistent rhythm to attune desperation. And then a mournful farewell squeezed out from the chimes, like glass shattering at the slow speed of the sun burning across the sky.

She lost herself in the sound, and the sound got lost in itself. Echoes echoed into more echoes, reverberating further, further, further. And died out. Vhisola had gone, and so had the music. Then, delight, surprise!

Feverish blasts and long trails up and down the board sent Pohatu dancing from wall to ceiling to floor. Blasts of base and sharp treble cracks led the timbre, smiting stone, cracking the fragile building, even as a set of pipes hissed the sting of the scorpion, scattering the beat.

A sudden blast of all the sounds unleashed the revolting finale, the last of the fight. Hali added her own scream to the notes, which died, ragged, into confused surprise. For an instant, Vhisola stood beside her again. The music diverged into two. Hali's hands widened apart, mournful and pleased, dismissive and overwhelming.

Vhisola kept the lead, and then suddenly her tune overpowered Hali, rising above it and surging back up the board. A wave of noise spread from one end of the pipes to the other, striking the kini as if with a bow wave.

The misunderstanding built up, slow at first, until the confusing waltz of Vhisola's madness raved its revelations from one pillar to the next.

But then, something began to beat against it. A fervent light shown down from above. Hali blinked, was the light real, or imagined? It didn't matter. The keys absorbed the glow. Some said that light had no voice, that the sun made no sound. Hali disagreed. The light fell about her, a quiet, yet invincible resolution. It arrested her fingers and they obeyed. It marched to a peaceful beat, an airy chime. Octaves rose, yet grew no louder. But the power remained, firm and unstoppable. Her left hand shook. Doubt warbled out of the mouth of three pipes here, two there.

Shadows retreated from the kini, furious yet pushed back, having no purchase before the light. So long as it burned and sang, there was nothing to threaten the illumination. It filled the whole chamber until it seemed the pillars danced in tune with it. Hali hummed, feeling her heart empty of the last of its clotted waste. Trust whistled, and faith exalted, swirling the very air in their tarantella until they harmonized into one and formed joy.

Joy was a candle that never stopped burning, never stopped singing. The darkness could not defeat the light. The light had already won.

And then, Hali felt remorse. She would have to depart, and return to the shadows mustering behind her. In there, Pohatu waited, Vhisola crept, and the enemy lurked, waiting to challenge them all. Her voices quieted, falling to a low whistling breath, each at a time.

Her fingers felt the blue melancholy drench her soul, and the blue song sauntered up the last singing chime pipe, crying for her. There was no choice. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. There had never been a choice, never been a question. She believed it was true, that Mata Nui would awaken, and bring to rights all that Makuta had thrown askew.

She longed to stay, and the longing chained her fingers to the keys. She pressed harder, harder, and less often. The pillars slowed, and then creaked to a halt. She felt the eddies of the air grow listless. There was no refreshing voice, there was no time to waste. So why was she wasting it? It was cold in those tunnels, but here she felt hot. Walls of sand rose about her, and the light grew more oppressive with each measure.

Everyone else was fighting, but she was the one most out of breath. The song slid to her feet and drew out a languid river, almost dried up, across the floor.

A final sigh escaped her. The chime flute let its last note fly. And then it ended in a crack, and tinkled about her its final notes.

Silence returned. But the light remained. Surprised, Hali looked up to see a shaft of light falling upon her from an unknown source. Well, that wasn't true. She'd seen this before.

"Oh, Turaga Whenua!" Hali said, giving a formal bow.

The light bobbed in answer, and then wriggled toward the exit.

"There's somewhere I need to go?"

The light started moving off toward the other end of the kini, back the way she'd come.

"I'm right behind you," she breathed, and hurried after Ruru's glow. She had an idea where the Turaga meant to take her. There was another, bigger river they needed to release.

 **TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL**

A change occurred in the background noise. Gali tensed on instinct as a blast of sound erupted somewhere not far off, and transitioned into a fantastic song. All around her, distant echoes reached her of that melody.

Amazed, she wanted to stop, sit down and just listen. But, the enemy was right behind her, and there was still too much distance to travel. A life was in danger, and for simple music she couldn't dare stop.

While she ran, the music grew unhappy, listless, and she got the impression of something without purpose or destination. But she was neither of those things, and kept running, feet pounding over stone and puddle.

Not far behind her, there had been more puddle than floor. The water level was rising, steadily. Something was wrong.

The music continued on, changing and shifting as if it were a living thing. Gali felt a passionate soul resonating amongst the notes. And then, it reached its long, melancholy end, and died out, leaving her alone with the steadily flooding passages.

 _"_ _Concentrate on reaching Toa Pohatu,"_ Onewa advised. His voice was muted, weak.

In the landscape of Gali's mind, the two stood by the shores of a deep, deep pool. The sky about them was black, a side-effect of Gali having suffered so long in the dark of late. Her visitor, the Turaga, who was communicating from afar, had faded away like a reflection disappearing amidst a ripple.

Instead of speaking directly, he wrote his thoughts before her feet on the sand, and she read them almost at once without even trying.

"What is that incredible music! Not even the storm possessed such dedicated power and emotional energy," Gali said aloud.

 _"_ _My powers are limited. My movements restricted. Focus. His heart is damaged. You must now learn what healing techniques I know from your Turaga, Nokama. They will be our only chance to avoid the loss of one of your own."_

 _Tell me, please! What is our greater Destiny, or task in all this? How might we go about doing this thing,_ Gali pleaded. She boiled and frothed for an answer.

 _"_ _Later. Zeal is, like water, at its greatest when focused and directed."_

 _Oh, but I've waited so long to know! The dreams tortured me with hints at a purpose!_

 _"_ _Your journey on this Island of Mata Nui has been harsh for you,"_ Onewa noted. _"Your mind is resistant to such traumas. It has begun to lose focus. Calm yourself and focus on your immediate destiny. You are close now. When you reach Toa Pohatu, I will direct your movements. You must let me access your power."_

 _What if you are of Makuta, and have an evil agenda,_ Gali countered, dashing around a corner and finding herself before a stairway. It switch-backed up into the dark.

 _"_ _Wise. If you fail him, you fail the Great Spirit. I will not attack him with your power. What we are going to try is very dangerous. We must move together as one. Failure will kill him. Trust me, or learn healing on your own and kill him."_

 _I will trust you. The enemy is not far behind, and yet you gave me enough understanding to defy them. Tell me, Turaga, can you detect the foe who stalks me? I would know how far off they are._ Gali looked down the stairs, having climbed almost halfway, she guessed.

Far below, something like a fast-flowing ooze slipped up the first set of stairs after her, like an oily shadow following an invisible caster.

" _Your mode of description begets eloquence. Charming."_

 _Thank you,_ Gali said, squinting her eyes at the foulness pursuing her. She turned and kept on going up the stairs.

 _"_ _It is wasteful beyond the fire circle for story time. Concentrate on your task. Erase all else. Distractions are chains, impediments. Does water enjoy impediments?"_

 _No. Will you not give me answer to my question? Or I may have to demonstrate to you the nature of water when it faces a dam._ In her metal realm, she raised a claw, forming a wave behind her that foamed and drew water, but did not move. She let it fall. Her "friend", her… correspondent, wasn't even within her mind anymore, but merely scribbling messages to her. That was far less invasive, and he seemed dedicated, even obsessed with helping.

" _Again, charming. I am trying. However, the enemy appears to be blocking my powers. They are not as strong as those of a Toa. And the powers of a Toa hunt you. And yet, I do sense a sort of presence. It is confusing. If I had more time to dedicate to it, I might succeed. There are other matters that take priority over your convenience. This is unfortunate. Please hurry. I fear I, as well, lose time."_

 _What happens if you lose time while I work to heal this Pohatu,_ she asked, worried. _I have never tried to use my reservoir of strength to work healing before._

 _"_ _None are truly prepared for what we need to do, until the time comes for us to do it. On my part, I do not have guarantees. If I am unable to last until you complete the procedure, I will instead leave the remains of my command written here at your feet. Let your instinct guide you. It will do the rest."_

 _Dangerous!_

 _"_ _Inefficient. Regretfully, Toa Pohatu's condition is already predetermined. A gamble will not make his fate any more dire. You are here. Destroy the door. It is sealed by the enemy."_

 _How can I? The stones—_ Gali gasped as Onewa showed her a technique. She'd never imagined using water in such a way. It would be tiring, but she let herself fall into a fighting stance, sideways with one foot before the other, hooks raised.

Before her, at the top of the stair, stood a door. An iron door, covered in rust, but the rust was _receding,_ as if some force was at work repairing it. Now and then, a crackle of amber power ran along it, proof that elemental energies like her own was responsible for this metallic healing.

She raised one leg, toe dipped toward the floor, and swept her hooked arms in a fluid motion, summoning the moister in the air to her call. It conscripted droplets and set them marching toward her until she had a swirling whirlpool behind her. The whirlpool condensed into a swirling fist. She condensed further and further, until the fists had shrunken. She reformed them into hooks, and then crossed her own out before her, forming an X over the center of the door ahead.

The water hooks swept forward and slashed the door together. The metal screeched and the water roared as it released, cutting the door into four parts and then blasting them outward into the room beyond.

Dashing inside, Gali found it dimly lit by a small glowstone outline of the doorway behind her. At the far end glinted something that might be a figure lying on the ground. Coming to kneel beside the figure, Gali saw that he did resemble her in size and build. His bronze mask was emotionless, and his eyes a dim, unlit amber.

She refused to believe she was too late. Taking a deep breath, she emptied her mind. Within the landscape, she settled back into her pool and drifted to the bottom, summoning up the wellspring.

Blue sparks of light appeared on the tips of her hooks, and then a third between her feet. Water poured from them, as if they were opening dams to vast rivers.

Guided by Onewa's instinct, Gali found herself moving in a slow, tense dance, weaving the water with her hooks, catching it up to form three Toa-sized teardrops. She found herself kneeling again. The drops spun slowly like lazy comets, their cores glowing brighter and brighter as she filled them with her power. She tried to memorize what she was doing. The elemental force she was applying felt… soft, gentle, not at all the terrible, murderous strength she'd used seconds earlier.

At last, the first two comets swirled around the first and dove upon Pohatu. The Toa of Stone's body seemed to absorb the water, as it vanished within him rather than spill out onto the floor. A blue light formed an outline around him, and blue and white flashes crawled across his limbs and chest.

Were she not focused on keeping her emotions in check, Gali wouldn't have been able to tear her eyes from the sight. It was fascinating. And distracting. Whirling and ducking, she released a thin ribbon of water. Something sailed over her head. It felt almost like water, but… tainted, wrong. Two other things, which guessed to be needle-thin bursts of liquid, struck her ribbon, spraying her. She felt something filmy running over her armor. It was not water.

A figure that Gali recognized as a reflection of herself crouched in mirror position to her before the entrance. But, her mask, though translucent, was blackish and had a sick, metallic set of rainbow colors in it whenever she moved. And her body, too, had an oily quality, as if she were drenched in slime. Gali smelled a powerful odor of salt and brine and something else pervade the room. The something was a thing she'd never associated with water, and yet knew by instinct was its enemy. It released a stench that made her gag and her head grow faint.

 _Oil,_ she thought.

 _"_ _Hold the enemy off! You've done enough for Pohatu. Let your power do the rest of the work. I will guide it,"_ Onewa scribbled for her. "Wait. Something has happened. I must go."

 _You have my gratitude._

 _"_ _Tell Pohatu he is free to share it with you."_

Gali's dark mirror laughed. Her right arm, which sported no hook, extended, and formed into a greasy whip. Her yellow eyes flickered like the flames of a lamp.

The dark Gali skidded toward her, feet sliding across the ground as if she weight nothing, and lashed with the whip.

Surprised by the foe's speed, Gali dodged to the side and lashed out with her own whip. Water struck oil and scattered. Both reached out to issue commands.

Gali commanded the water to spin into a ring and hurl itself at her false counterpart. The dark Gali ordered the droplets to hop across the ground and converge upon her true image.

Blue light shimmered within the water as the dueling wills suffused them with power. The water spun in a wild orbit about the point of impact, and grew until a dozen interlocking currents formed fast-flowing rings in the air.

Not settling for a contest of mind alone, the false Gali skated in low, readying to bring matter to the fore of the match, hook drawn back to stab. Unlike the true Gali's hooks, this one was barbed and curved to a wicked spear-tip.

Gali jumped, catapulting into the air on a jet of water, which formed into a thin wave and crashed atop her enemy even as she somersaulted right above her head. Gali snagged her foe's claw with both of her own, landed, and then swung with all her might, hurling the false Gali into the spinning rings of interlocked rapids.

Shouting in dismay, the dark image crashed into the rings, breaking them. And then they reformed about her. She stabbed them with her hook, and they darkened with ink. She lunged, lashing out with a triplet of blackened tentacles, breaking stone and sheering the air with a whistle.

Gali danced through the lashings, hopping, rolling and then jumping off her hooks, azure lightning crackling about her foot in the instant she released a torrent of water. She kicked, hurling a surge. Her enemy cartwheeled aside. The surge blasted the rock, spraying chips in all directions. The enemy lashed with her whip arm. Gali landed and tucked into a roll, feeling the whip lashing nearby. She snagged it, reeled it in, let it encircle her. The whip obliged, and cracked her armor when it finished winding. And then, Gali snared the whip in her hooks, her power rushing out to purify the greased water with her light.

Hissing, the false Gali detached her whip and slid around in an attempt to flank Gali and get at Pohatu. Her claw glinted yellow at the edges in the dim light, as did her sinuous body.

Gali summoned the dampness and formed it into two streams. The flows raced at the dark reflection like a pair of Tarakava arms, but the foe managed to slide beneath one and leap over the other. The streams hit the walls beyond and erupted into foam, which released a dozen sick colors as they turned yellow and multiplied.

A raging, yellow wall of foam filled that side of the chamber and then came roaring at Gali. She had to choose between protecting herself and Pohatu from the attack, or saving the other Toa from her false copy's hook.

She dashed after the enemy, propelling herself forward by releasing a swell from her feet. It rose, carrying her up almost to the ceiling. For an instant, she shared a glance with her enemy, who's eyes widened in dismay. Then, Gali fell, crashing atop her foe, and swept her arms. The breaker obeyed, easing away from the fallen Pohatu to form a nest of seething eddies around him. The foam crashed in, carrying both of Gali to the opposite wall.

It felt _horrible._ Gali tried to rise and found it hard to stand. Oil coated her feet, and she felt dizziness spread as she inhaled more and more of the fumes. Gali wheezed. Using her hooks, she clawed her way up the wall to a standing position, and hung there, staring out at the room. Through hazy eyes, she made out her wave nest still churning away, its sound a constant rush.

Her enemy's black mask bubbled to the surface of the foam, eyes casting a sulfur glow across it like a lighthouse stretching its beam over a frothing sea. Her claw appeared a moment later, and struck, catching Gali in the side. The other arm rose up, and tainted water swirled into a spiked mace, which she raised above her head in preparation to smash open Gali's skull.

Shouting in pain and determination, Gali released all the reserves of power she could dredge up. She couldn't fight the thing, but she _could_ send it away. The warding she'd set around Pohatu collapsed with a weak splash. Her enemy noticed and drew her axe arm back, forming a throwing axe.

 _"_ _Stop!"_ Water exploded in a radiant glow about her, like an ancient fountain breaking forth on the first day of the world. Her shadowed counterpart fell back, throwing up a wall of rippling sludge in a weak attempt at defense. But it formed an instant too late, and it, along with the dark Gali, disappeared as the wave fell on them. Gali directed its course so that it emptied at full speed out the door, where it then hurled its prisoner out over the stairs. The false Toa screamed, but Gali couldn't hear her over the battlecry of water.

Breathless, she stumbled over to Pohatu and sank down beside him, propping herself up on one elbow. She felt her deep reserves of power draining out, leaving her feeling cold and empty on the inside. They would refill, but it would require time.

 _I hope you awaken soon,_ she thought to the Toa of Stone. _I will need help if that thing returns too soon._

 _Onewa, are you still there? Will the Toa of Stone survive?_

She received no answer, and didn't detect his presence. She noticed the beginnings of a scribble on the ground, but it faded the instant she perceived it. _It seems he ran out of time._

A light and a grating sound came from above. She looked up to see the silhouette of a small figure standing in a small doorway high above. _What is that? Another foe? No, it looks too small to be another mirror Toa._

"Please come help me!" the figure cried, throwing up her hands.

"Who are you?" Gali spun up to her feet.

"I'm a Matoran, one of the villagers of this island, who serve Mata Nui!"

"What do you need of me, Matoran?" Gali asked, turning to glance at the exit, just in case the enemy might return while they spoke.

"My name is Hali, and I need your help! The dam, the mineworks, it's going to burst!"

Gali stood up and started climbing to the ladder, paused and then returned for Pohatu. She wasn't going to abandon this charge after having fought so hard to keep him safe.

"There's no time," Hali pleaded, waving her hands. "Please hurry!"

Gali scooped Pohatu into her arms and looked back up at the high door. There was a ladder, but she couldn't carry her patient and climb at once.

The ground beneath her started moving. Startled, she looked to find a circular patch of the floor levitating upwards! So surprised was she that she almost dropped Pohatu. "We're coming. What do you need us to do?"

"I'll explain everything in a minute," Hali insisted.

Gali felt a stirring again, like some predator of the deep shifting at the bottom of her well. _It's siphoning power again._ She tried to lock down her emotions, but it seemed that still wasn't enough to hold back the trickle of loss. She grew weak-kneed, but kept her eyes focused on the exit below. There was no way the enemy would… _what is that?_ She noticed the faintest metallic sheen running along the ground. It was a trickle, a remnant of the battle, so she had guessed before now. As she watched, it grew more solid, and writhed lethargically, like a severed tentacle.

Cracks spread out around her, and her lift fell in pieces to the floor. Gali jerked, and dangled there in space, eyes widening in uncomprehending shock. She couldn't breathe! She swayed back and forth, her strength going out, and felt Pohatu beginning to slip from her arms. Her eyes looked upwards, and saw the twinkling of an oil rope. Now she understood. She could see it running up from the side of the floor, up the dark corner of the chamber, and across the darkened ceiling, where it dangled down. She'd risen right into the path of its noose, and now the floor was gone.

Hali screamed in horror.

Dropping Pohatu, as his weight would strangle her in seconds, Gali lashed out with her hooks, breaking the rope. _Fresh air!_ she exalted, breathing deep. She fell, landed just behind Pohatu, and picked him up amidst the rubble of the platform. With him in her arms again, Gali created and hurled up two lengths of watery rope, snagging the other sides of the door between Hali, who shied away.

 _Whatever that thing can do, I'm certain I can duplicate. Thank you for the lesson,_ she thought, and caused a current to form in the water, which pulled her up to the waiting Matoran.

At the top, she took a pause to steady herself, and also to observe Hali. She didn't want to be tricked again. The little Bionicle looked quite frightened, with her whole body shaking.

"It's going to be fine," Gali said, taking in another deep breath. "Show me what we need to do."

Hali nodded and scampered along the corridor. Gali followed, breathing heavily. Pohatu weighed far more than her. It felt like she was carrying a mountain in her arms.

At the end, Gali found herself bathed in a light-filled room. She basked in the sheer splendor of the bright buff-colored stone and the stripes of tall windows, which showed nothing but a glorious blue.

"Please, come over to the totem," Hali said, pointing at a strange, wheel-shaped thing twitching and spinning in place. It had a mask of all things.

"What is it?"

"It commands the Korio Mahi mines," Hali explained in a rush. "We can't release the dam because so much water would damage Ga-Koro and ruin the mines. We need to have the main drill increase its speed. That way, it will pump the water out through the desert."

"Can you not do this," Gali asked. "I know not what to do with this thing."

"You just need to destroy it once I give the command," Hali said, running over to the totem. "You see, there's the… you fought it. It keeps coming back a-and countermanding my orders. I thought it was a real Toa. You look cleaner, like the real thing. You _are_ the real Toa of water, aren't you?" she looked with such desperation that her eyes all but melted.

"Yes, fear not," Gali promised in as soothing a voice as she could muster. "If I destroy this totem, will we not be trapped with our decision? If something else goes wrong, we couldn't change our orders."

"That's the problem. The enemy keeps changing it. It will be fine. We can repair it later."

"Later may come too soon, and with regret," Gali countered.

"And if we don't do something, there isn't going to _be a later!_ " the hysterical Matoran shrieked.

Gali eyed the Matoran hard. Something was amiss. But she couldn't place it. There was no time to ponder, either. She had heard the cacophony below when the mines began to groan. Hadn't she been concerned about the rising water level herself? She almost complied, but then remembered the strange, but fantastic symphony. "There was someone playing an instrument, Hali. What were they thinking? In a disaster like this, shouldn't the whole Mahi be evacuated?"

"I… don't know. I didn't hear anything," Hali said.

"As you wish. Stand back, Matoran," Gali said, deciding to put the question off for later. Still, she got the nagging feeling that she had just suffered a lie.

"Toa—who are you?" Hali asked from behind.

Gali blinked, and glanced at Hali beside her. The Ga-Matoran blinked in confusion, and then turned around and gasped. Gali did likewise, and found an _identical_ Matoran to Hali standing there, wielding a disk. A glowing light illuminated the chamber behind her. Gali couldn't make out its source, though it appeared ethereal. The light faded, leaving the corridor beyond in its regular, dim lighting.

"Aaaiiiyee," the first Hali screamed, stumbling behind Gali. "Shadow Matoran!" she pointed.

"That's my line," Hali snapped. "And, for the record, it was _I_ who played the instrument!" she hurled her disk.

The new Matoran's words struck a chord in Gali's mind. She sidestepped the disk, letting it hit the first, pretender Hali. To both her and the apparently real Hali, her disk passed straight through the imposter. It kept sailing on and sped out the window…

"You just wouldn't do this the easy way," the pretender Hali snarled. And dissolved like mist in sunshine, leaving not a trace.

"What was that," Hali asked, mouth agape. "And, that was my favorite disk. Oh, stone rats, Pohatu! What happened to him," she gasped, rushing to where Gali still held the Toa of Stone.

Gali set her burden down on the floor, her sense of unease gone for the moment. "Are you his friend?"

"Yes," Hali said. "What was that, Toa? Oh, wow. Toa of _Water._ You're the Toa of Water!"

Smiling, Gali nodded. "Yes, though there is a tainted pretender not far off who almost had her way with me."

"Let's hurry, before what spawned these horrible tricks returns," Hali said, rushing over to the totem.

"I'm afraid the imposter resembling me was no mere illusion," Gali said in caution. "More than tricks are at work here, good Matoran. We should flee. There is truth in this place being threatened with water."

"Beware," the totem said to Hali. "The drill of rapids exceeds limitations. Water cannot drain. Please release the dam. Beware, the drill of rapids exceeds…"

"And there you have it," Hali said, her voice going soft. "Taskseer," she said, raising her voice, "please open the"—her words cut off as something caused the whole dais to shake.

Even as the first tremor started, Gali felt a strange sensation, a prickle of danger like the breath of a predator at her back, though she saw nothing in the room or the corridor beyond. The floor swayed underfoot. Gali crouched to maintain her balance, and readied to scoop Pohatu back up in case the floor should break underneath them again.

Instead, something else happened.

Though she was the real thing, Hali screamed just like her imposter had done. Gali didn't blame her, and even added a shocked yelp of her own. _Scorpion_ carvings began to rise up from the smooth stonework of the room. It reminded Gali of sculptures buried beneath the sand getting unearthed by a harsh wind, or perhaps water eroding the earth about a deep boulder. With a splinter of stone fragments, the carvings tore themselves from their moorings and started to crawl toward the dais. A few formed from the ceiling dropped atop Pohatu and Hali, their claws snapping and stinger tails drawing back to strike.

Hissing, Gali skewered the scorpion menacing Pohatu. Holding the squirming thing up to her by her hook, as if it were food about to be forked into her mouth, Gali examined the thing to see if it would die. Hali's screams turned blood-curdling as she stared up at the scorpion in wild terror, her arms shaking out at her sides, as if she were in the grips of a fit. Seeing the Matoran couldn't defend herself, Gali hurled the second scorpion into the other menacing Hali, knocking both off the dais to crash into their fellows. But, there were at least a dozen still climbing the tiers, snapping their claws and striking with their stings.

 _They're not totally lifelike. They possess the same aspects of stone._ Gali's eyes fell upon Pohatu. _Could it be a shadow of him, like mine?_

A new Matoran voice issued from the corridor. Gali looked up to see a Matoran with dark and sand-colored armor skin dashing toward her, a black and gold disk in one hand, glowstone in the other. A being leapt up from a lift at the far end, his dark brown and red-striped skin marking him for who he pretended to be.

"It's after me," the Matoran screamed in horror.

"Stay close to Pohatu," Gali shouted to Hali, who was scrambling toward her, sobbing and pointing at the scorpions cresting the rim of the dais. "Don't come into the corridor, a pretender Toa is here!" she let the new Matoran flee into the chamber, though it was far from safe, and sprinted into the corridor, toward the most severe threat.

 _You're the source of this, Usurper of Stone!_ Gali shouted in her mind with the wrath of a thunderhead.

She raised her hooks and released her power, which sprinkled the floor under her pounding feet with electric blue sparks. Droplets spun in whirls in the air, and then became swirling pools, and then surged forward in churning riptides of water, tearing off pieces of stonework and floor in their passing.

To the enemy's credit, the false Toa didn't run or look surprised. Instead, he skidded to a halt and stabbed both hands into the floor and began to crawl forward, pushing the floor stones up like they were mere carpet.

The barrier and water collided, and the water won out. With her keen eyes, Gali noticed the Usurper vanish amidst the waves, rather than be swept away. _Another illusion, was I wrong about mine not being substantial?_ The wound in her side ached in response. _No, no that one was of flesh. This is something else._

There was no time to ponder. She heard Hali's plead for help. Gali summoned back her aquatic attack and road it as a wave back into the dais chamber, where she divided her force into two furious rivers. They poured into the tiers and washed the scorpions to the bottom, where they then dashed the creatures between the last wall and tier.

One scorpion remained. The new Matoran hurled his disk, striking the stone creature. In a flash of gold, it dissolved in a cloud of dust.

"Hali, what do we do to release the dam," Gali asked. "I believe letting the water flow is wise."

"It's too late," the other Matoran said, pointing at the Taskseer totem. Its mask was torn off and shattered on the ground.

"The scorpions attacked it from the ceiling while you were gone," Hali said, her voice sounding worse than she looked, and that was bad. She wrapped herself in her arms. "Oh, that was _horrible._ I _hate_ scorpions! I mean, I thought I could handle the small ones… I guess not." She looked over and blinked several times at Ahkmou, noticing him at last. "Ah! You! What are you doing here, Ahkmou?"

"Is this really the best time?"

"Yes!"

"Or not," Gali said, sensing something. She could feel it, a fury building up below them. The water was trapped and _demanded_ its freedom. The river would get it, somehow.

Racing to the windows, Gali looked down. There was a small amount of water getting through, but it was not anywhere enough. Returning to the dais, she scooped up Pohatu. "Come on you two," she said, trotting down the steps between the tiers.

"What are we going to do," Ahkmou asked.

"How good are your diving skills," Gali asked, nodding toward the window.

Ahkmou halted mid-stride. "Duh-uh, _what_?"

Hali started to laugh, but stopped as her yes widened. "If only Vhisola could… Vhisola! Wait, Toa of Water, my friend is still in there!"

"There are more trapped inside?" Gali felt her heart shiver. This was no good. She didn't have time!

Pohatu stirred in her arms. He blinked, gave her one good look and then tried to punch her mask off. "Whoa!"

"Wait, I am a friend, a fellow servant of Mata Nui," Gali shouted. "Please, there's no time to lose!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Pohatu panted, struggling. "Let. Go!" He somehow twisted out of her hooks and kicked her into one of the tiers. She crashed through, flipped and crashed into the next one. Pohatu collapsed onto the floor and cried out in pain. Hauling himself to his feet, Pohatu pulled with his arms to the window sill and looked out. The stones trembled beneath him.

Groaning, Gali pushed herself out of the stone indention she'd created, feeling like she'd just been hit by one of the Tarakava's punches. The swelling deep rumbled to her, warning her of the impending calamity.

"The dam is going to burst," Gali and Pohatu said as one. They looked at each other, eyes flickering and searching for signs of treachery.

"So it is," Pohatu said first, blinking and nodding. "Okay, so you intended to drop me over when it does. Pleasant way to end me. Why not just stab me with one of those nasty hook-hands?"

"This room isn't safe either," Gali said, forcing herself to stand, to not show weakness. "I'm sorry. I… I _was_ going to jump." She walked over to another window. "Hali says she can dive. We'll jump to the river below, and then catch the tidal wave when it breaks."

Hali gasped and put her hands to her mouth.

Ahkmou and Pohatu stopped eyeing each other like Nui-Jaga and turned to regard Gali with stupefied looks.

"That's crazy," Ahkmou said.

"Seconded," Pohatu said, laughing and shaking his head. "I think I've fallen a few too many times today, but I'm not _brain-dead_ enough to try it _on purpose._ "

"I'm a Toa of Water," Gali said, holding out one of her hooks. "I promise we will all survive. There's no time to waste!"

"She's right about that," Ahkmou said with a nervous dance.

The whole Korio Mahi shuddered. A deep groan issued from somewhere far, far below, and ended in a metallic whine of distressed metal.

"Vhisola, oh no. Mata Nui help her! I have to go back," Hali shouted, dashing up the tiered steps, thought of rescuing her sister driving all else from her mind.

"Hali, wait!" Pohatu and Gali shouted at once. Again, they exchanged looks. Pohatu shrugged and folded his arms, gesturing for Gali to continue.

"Hali, there's no time," Gali said. "If you go back, you'll parish. Come here. We have to dive."

The ground shuddered again, and this time it didn't stop. The groaning intensified to a mounting roar.

"Hali!"

The Ga-Matoran looked at the shaking ground. With a cry of frustration, she bolted back down and joined Gali. She offered her a look of purist hate, but then she leapt out the window anyway.

"You crazy Matoran," Pohatu shouted, leaning out over the window. "Don't expect me to watch you fall just because you let me. That's not, that's not…" he shook his head and covered his eyes.

"Come on," Gali said, coming stand beside the Toa of Stone. "Trust me."

The ground began to crack all around them.

"There is no time. I can't face the darkness ahead by myself," she said.

"Unity, not division," Pohatu mumbled, squinting as if the words were foul. "Fine. I came this far to find you. Guess I can't complain if you found me."

"And saved your life," Gali said, giving him a smile.

"Wait, you're not going to actually do this," Ahkmou said, trembling and backing up.

Pohatu reached out for him, but let his arms fall and winced in pain. "Agh. Ouch."

Seeing his wounds restrict his movements, Gali pounced on the fleeing Ahkmou and pulled him to the window for Pohatu. "Calm down," she said, trying to stop his kicking and screaming. He acted like she was trying to hurt him. Really, it wasn't _that_ impossible a drop. Water at the bottom assured they would survive.

"Don't blame him," Pohatu said, massaging his arms. "This looks like choosing one death over another. I'm not sure he isn't in the right. You could still be trying to kill us."

"I saved you from a terrible wound, and then fought off a dark mirror of myself while you lay helpless," Gali said, her patience snapping. She pushed her Mask right into his face, bopping his so that his head was knocked back a bit. "Seal it. Trust me this time, of your own free will. Are we not servants of Mata Nui? Don't we have an obligation to stand Unified?"

"I…" Pohatu seemed lost for words.

Ahkmou shouted and pointed at the ceiling. A piece of roof fell with a thud nearby.

"Time to learn how to dive," Gali told Ahkmou, and threw him out the window.

The Matoran's scream receded fast, overcome by the crumbling and roaring that drew closer.

"Aren't you going to go? It's almost here," Pohatu said, staring up at Gali.

"If you're not going, then I shall not either." Gali sat down cross-legged next to him.

" _Why?_ You've got no reason to stay here!"

"Yes, I do," Gali said, resting a hook tenderly on one of his arms. She bored her gaze into his amber eyes, so much like glowstones, and so hard. "If you refuse to leave, then I can't abandon you to your fate. Perhaps I can save you amidst the collapse."

"You'd stay to keep me safe, even if it's my own choice," Pohatu said, amazed.

"Only if you let me. Will you let me stay by your side, Toa of Stone?"

Pohatu looked down at her hooks, and then forced himself up and started crawling out the window.

Once Pohatu was on the sill, he jumped. Gali waited a moment, and then took a running leap after him, hurtling sideways through the narrow window and sailing out into the bright, hot air. She tucked her legs to her chest and began to tumble end-over-end. She caught glimpses of the dam cracking and water sporting out in jets. Seconds remained.

She knifed into the water without a splash scant seconds after Pohatu. She took in a deep draught of air through her Mask of Breath, and then kicked with her legs, three powerful strokes, reaching Pohatu even as he spluttered for air at the surface. "Grab hold!" she shouted.

Once he'd obliged, she kicked them towards the struggling figure of Ahkmou not far ahead. Hali clung to a rock a little further off. She reached the hapless Matoran and snagged him with one hook, and then moved to rescue Hali. The Ga-Matoran let go of the rock and paddled to meet her.

Stone shouted, a furious crack of pain that ended in the triumphant, bone-shaking voice of the dammed Motara and Tiro rivers breaking free.

Hali wrapped her arms about her hook. Gali kicked, and ordered the flow to make way for her. A path appeared in the water, a current shifting to defy the backward tug of the approaching tidal wave. She dashed along, speeding ahead of the oncoming river, a wall of white foam that swept the sides of the canyon all the way up to its rims. Gali let her body and mind fall into the river's swelling power. The eddies shifted around her and her charges, like the halves of a clamshell closing together.

White foam struck them all, and filled the world with the sound of furious waves.

* * *

Author's Note: wow, almost 100,000 words. Thanks to Ribke for all the consistently great reviews. Island of Destiny wouldn't have made it this far without them!

Anyway, I will be going on an extended hiatus this Christmas season to work on another project. As I don't make money from this, as Bionicle is copyrighted, created and owned by Lego, consider future reviews as a currency of sorts. We fanfiction writers can spend quite an extensive amount of time on these projects. So, good readers, I ask you, please review to show support, offer criticism, suggestions or simple appreciation. Thank you.


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